Ebb and Flow
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: Post season 3 finale: Off island, Jack and Kate contemplate their mistake and receive help from unexpected sources. Meanwhile life goes on for those left behind. Main characters are Jack, Kate, Penny, Hurley, Desmond and Sawyer.
1. Neither Here Nor There

At first it was clowns. Sitting on him, laughing at him. A swirl of colours, big eyes, loopy smiles. Then it was cats, his grandmother's three plump Persians, perched on his chest, purring like locomotives. They felt like fire. Jack tried to push them off but his arms lay heavy at his sides. At one point he saw the boy, Michael's son, he couldn't remember his name, standing over him. He wanted to ask him to move the cats but his mouth felt like it was full of sand and when he strained to speak the grains trickled down his throat choking him. The boy spoke solemnly to Jack for a long time but the words fell short of his ears. Then it was back to the clowns, crawling all over him, crowding him as if he was the small car they were trying to fit into.

Then everyone, everything, disappeared, leaving him alone. He felt lighter and cooler, almost weightless. He opened his eyes and saw the dark sky, stars scattered like diamonds across a black cloth. They twinkled and swayed. He couldn't tell if he was moving or they were. He watched the stars for a while, soothed by their gentle dance. Someone squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. He drifted off again but the clowns didn't return.

The next thing Jack remembered was the overwhelming smell of fish. It made him retch and that small movement awoke a pain that swept across his body. Voices whispered around him. Strong rough hands grasp his shoulders, tilting his head up. He feels warm water touch his lips. A thirst he didn't know he had overcame him. He drinks greedily but it doesn't sooth the burning in his throat or his body. The water comes up as quickly as it went down, splashing his neck and chest. Someone turns him on his side, pats his back.

He opens his eyes, unfamiliar faces peer at him. They're speaking to him, an Asian language. He hears someone else gasping above him. He twists up to look and sees long tangled hair draped over the side on a bunk. A surge of adrenaline shoots through him as the last few days come rushing back. The island. The sickness. Kate.

x x x

_March 23, 2005_

_Two Oceanic Crash Survivors Rescued_

_Christchurch – NZ_

_Associated Press_

Seven months after Oceanic Flight 815 crashed into the South Pacific Americans Jack Shephard, 37, and Katherine Austen, 27, were found by the Korean fishing vessel_ Iri_, off the coast of Gambier Islands, South Pacific Ocean. Originally it was assumed all 249 passengers and crew on the ill fated flight were killed in the September 2004 accident.

Found floating unconscious in a small water craft, the _Iri _crew retrieved Shephard and Austen and took them to Stewart Island, New Zealand. They were treated in the Oden Medical Centre for dehydration and a viral infection before being airlifted to Christchurch.

Dr. Paul Maliwall, the physician who treated Shephard and Austen at the Christchurch Hospital said pair were in remarkable shape given their ordeal. They are expected to be released within a week.

Thomas Scout, a representative from the American consulate in Auckland, spoke at length with the survivors. He reports the pair, uninjured in the crash, managed to find an inflatable raft in the wreckage. They sailed to a small uninhabited island where they survived on a diet of fruit and fish for 120 days.

The wreckage of Flight 815 and hundreds of bodies were discovered in October 2004 approximately 200 kilometres from where the _Iri_ found Shephard and Austen. A representative from Oceanic, Leslie Welsch, reported that the airline planned to reopen their investigation into the crash and start a new search for survivors.

Shephard, a spinal surgeon, is a resident of Los Angeles. He was reunited with his mother yesterday afternoon. Austen, a graduate of the University of Iowa, had spent the year before the crash travelling through Australia.

Oceanic 815 disappeared approximately six hours after leaving Sydney en route to Los Angeles on September 22, 2004. Wreckage was found the following day but it was weeks before a specific crash site was identified. The three month investigation determined the cause of the accident to be a combination of engine failure and pilot error. Oceanic and Boeing are part of an ongoing class action lawsuit launched by the families of the survivors.

"I am both elated and dismayed at the discovery of survivors," said Sabrina Carlyle, a plaintiff in the lawsuit. "It's a sign for all of us that there is still hope. My son could still be out there too, waiting for be found. Unfortunately, this also demonstrates the extreme negligence that occurred in the first search and rescue."

Also on board Flight 815 were Kal London, Under Secretary to the Australian Minister of Defence, Robert Hoffman, a Swiss publisher, and Charlie Pace, an English recording artist.

x x x

Jack's mother squeezed his hand as the flight took off. She asked him about a dozen times between the safety demonstration and the start of the film if he was alright. He repeatedly assured her he was fine. She had forgotten this was the second time he had flown since the crash. He remembered every moment of the shaky charter flight from Oden to Christchurch, the passenger cabin hardly big enough for the nurse to sit between his and Kate's stretchers. The noise of the engine obliterated the need to speak or listen. He had spent the flight watching his IV drip, almost in time with Kate's. She had slept through it but he could tell, as he glanced across the aisle, that she was only pretending to sleep now, feet curled up in the empty seat beside her. A flight attendant had tucked a navy blue blanket around her, a duplicate of the ones they had slept on for seven months.

Once his mother drifted off, relaxed enough by the wine and pills and her son's reassurances to take her eyes off him for a moment, Jack unbuckled his seat belt, and went to the bathroom. He locked the door and leaned his head against it. He stood there for several moments, feeling the faint vibrations of the plane hum through his skull.

A series of memories pulsed through his mind, his senses still more there than here.

Waking after the crash, the peace he had felt, until his hearing returned and the roar of the jungle clashed with the cries from the beach.

Palm trees waving in the wind, the Pilot's blood raining down and his father's cracked coffin.

Holding Aaron so soon after holding Boone, feeling confident pointing a gun and pressing the trigger and the sound Charlie's sternum made when it cracked.

Desmond's eyes filling with recognition, Michael's retreating figure, and Juliet holding out a sandwich.

Sinking the blade into Ben's skin, Locke threatening to shot him, and the Dharma helicopters arriving with a torrent of violence.

The most recent memories felt the most distant, as if carried off by the confusion of his fever. First it seemed like a blessing, when the sickness struck their attackers, sparing the crash survivors and Ben's people. Then it spread, hitting indiscriminately. Jack insisted the temple campsite become quarantined. He recalls Sayid's sad resolve as he escorted the uninfected away, leaving Jack to care for Richard, Cindy, Karl and six others whose names he never knew.

He fell sick when digging Cindy's grave. He has no memory of Kate returning to care for him, and then already sick herself dragging him to a rowboat left behind by Dharma. She later told him that Walt had appeared to her, told her getting off the island was the only way to get rid of the infection.

They discussed this in the hospital, after they had told the embassy clerk everything, after they repeated it all to her supervisor, but before Kate's stepfather arrived with the warning and a plan. They were to say they were the sole survivors, this would maximize the safety of their friends and themselves. He assured them a rescue was underway, had been for some time, but it would take more time, to ensure the right people got to the island first. He promised Kate immunity for her cooperation. He told them they were being watched.

Jack agreed. Kate did not. Time was of the essence she said – for anyone who could still get sick, for Sawyer who had been shot in the last fight with Dharma, for Desmond who was losing his mind, for Sun, especially for Sun. The more people who knew, the safer they would all be. Jack disagreed – safer for us, maybe, but not safer for them. Finally she agreed or at least relented. She had stopped saying much to him.

He had not regretted the decision until last night. A woman phoned his hotel room, a mixture of Spanish, English and sorrow poured through the line. Did he remember her son, she asked. He was memorable, you probably would remember him, she insisted. Maybe you spoke to him. He was friendly, a big man, curly hair. He said sorry and hung up. He knew there would be more phone calls.

He turned on the tap and cupped some water in his hand, swallowing a sleeping pill. He avoided his reflection as he rubbed his eyes and splashed water on his face. He unlocked the door and looked down the aisle. Kate was sitting up watching him, staring as if she had been inside his head the whole time he was in the bathroom.

He sat beside her and she look away.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Charlie was in there when we crashed."

"I didn't know that."

"Do you think they know about Michael, maybe offered him the same deal?"

"Maybe."

Her fingers tapped the window. Her face reflected back in the darkness, small, closed and tired.

"They could be below us right now."

"I know."


	2. Now and Then, Here and There

It was dusk when Kate got back to the parking lot, her car was the only one left. She unlocked the door, tossing her backpack and hat onto the passenger seat. She sat for a moment before starting car, sipping the warm apple juice that had been left sitting all day in the sun. The park ranger, the older one with white tuffs of hair, waved to her as she drove by. The sun seemed to fall fast and it was already dark by the time she arrived home.

Here time was in a hurry. Minutes disappeared, whole hours passed without Kate noticing them. Not like on the island where every action, every thought, from the mundane to the macabre, lingered. Even before that, time seemed to hang in the air, teasing and testing her patience. Now when she was at her most idle, time seemed to move faster, move forward.

It should have suited her, every molecule acting as restless as she felt, hurtling toward some conclusion. Except not every deadline came with an assigned a date. Here she was, part of her rushing toward the end of the third act, part of her stranded in intermission. Both circumstances caused by her choices and Jack's decision upon their return. Of course, Christchurch was just one of many forks in the road. Perhaps the more relevant one happened back on the island when she decided to break the quarantine.

She hadn't planned to. Kate had been so tired when they arrived at what was to be their new home that she hadn't even volunteered to be in the first group to go back to check on Jack. Instead she had slipped into an empty house, lay down on some dead Other's bed. Outside she could hear those who hadn't been there before marvel at the matching bungalows, the golf carts lining the gravel walkways, and the drained swimming pool. Levittown, she had heard Bernard calling it. More like Jonestown, Hurley replied, don't drink the Kool-aid. Despite her fatigue, she was still awake when Sawyer came in later, exhaling sharply as he lowered himself on the bed beside her.

He had found her in the storeroom four days later, putting supplies in a backpack. The same bag that lay on the seat beside her now. Sawyer had paused briefly in the doorway and then left without saying anything, crutches scrapping the linoleum. He knew, and this time, even when the stakes were higher, he didn't throw it back at her. Not saying anything was worse.

There was always someone to go back for.

x x x

It should have surprised her to see Jack leaning against her porch rail, a cardboard box lying at his feet. She had been expecting him to show up, even wanted him to at times, but now seeing him, she contemplated pulling out and driving away.

There were very few times she had seen Jack look shocked. Plane crash, polar bears, secret underground complexes – he took it all in stride, almost smug in his calmness. As she got out of the car, his face dropped, eyes widened, his hand briefly fluttered to his face. Then as he recovered, it dropped to his side, clenching.

She walk passed him and unlocked the door. He followed her inside and stood paralyzed in her hallway, as she moved through into the kitchen, opening cupboards, taking out cups, putting the kettle on. When he found his voice again, crackling with hurt and concern, he asked, still standing in the hallway, "Why didn't you tell me?"

When she didn't answer, he joined her in the kitchen, the counter stood between then, bracing the distance.

"Did you know, when you came for me?"

"Yes."

"Then why?"

"I was dead anyway, according to Juliet."

Jack flinched and then adjusted his tone, his voice settling down, "And now?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you seeing someone?"

"Of course."

"Who?"

"A doctor, here in San Diego."

"And…"

"And what, Jack? When's it due? August. Did Sawyer know? Yes. Did I think of not keeping it? Yes."

The kettle whistled, almost as shrilly as Kate found her voice climbing. She turned from him, taking her time pouring the water into the teapot, waiting for her heart to stop racing. She placed the teapot on the table and sat down, cupping her empty mug. Jack joined her but neither of them reached for the tea.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"You didn't go too far."

"I didn't like Los Angeles, nowhere to breathe."

His eyes searched the room, pausing to take in the view from the kitchen window. "This is nice…cozy."

"I like the area, the desert, the mountains. I haven't been to the ocean yet. There's a state park nearby. I go hiking almost every day."

"By yourself?"

"No, Jack, I hire a marching band to follow me."

"Sorry. It's just hard…to get use to you like this. To all of this. And I don't just mean…," he gestures to her stomach. "I mean all of this. Being home."

"I know."

"It's been three months and nothing. No word from your stepfather. At first he returned my calls, told me to sit tight, help was on the way. Then in May when I called the base, they said he's in Afghanistan, special ops, unreachable. They had no idea who I was. I had to badger an aide for days to get your address… I mean, we don't even know how Sam's involved. Do you?" Kate shakes her head and Jack continues, "Who's looking for the island? Who's watching us?"

"Remember the whispers? Sometimes I feel them here. I don't actually hear anything but I feel like there's someone whispering, watching me."

"If so, then they're not whispering, they're laughing at us." Jack rubs his hand over his head. "I think I've made a mistake. We shouldn't have kept quiet."

"You want to go public?"

"Now, I don't know…," again he gestures to her stomach. She acknowledges it for the first time in front of him, placing her hand on it. "There's more to consider."

"Who would we go to, the media?"

"I've been doing research." Jack leaves the kitchen and returns with his file box. "I've been trying to find any record of Dharma or Hanso or DeGroot. Anything, but it's as if they don't exist. I found an Ethan Rom who graduated from McGill Medical School in Montreal in 1988. Then when I looked up the yearbook photo, it wasn't even him."

"We can't really trust what Ben told us anyway."

"Right. So then I thought we could start researching what we do know, about who was on the plane. Maybe there's a connection there."

"And?"

"I didn't get a chance to yet. This came in the mail last week." Jack retrieves an envelope from the box and passes it to her. She opens it and pulls out a hand written letter dated two weeks ago.

June 1, 2005

Dear Dr. Shepherd,

I hope this letter finds you well and recovered from your ordeal. Like the rest of the world, I was overjoyed to hear about your's and Ms. Austen's safe return. I've been away and only heard about this strange affair recently.

I would be interested in discussing your experience in more detail. I understand that this might be a problem for both of us looking to avoid unwanted attention. I assure you I would keep anything you say in the greatest of confidence. Of course, this might all be for not, if what the papers wrote about what happened to you was true.

I ask you to contact me immediately at if the following means anything to you. Desmond Hume. Charlie Pace. Naomi.

I hope we can help each other.

Yours truly,

Penelope Widmore

Kate reads the letter twice. The first time her heart seemed to stop, all she understood were the last lines. Starting over she reads it carefully, sensing the desperation, the restlessness, buried under all the restraint. She wonders if time feels too fast for Penny or if it's agonizingly slow. She hands the letter back to Jack and pours herself some tea.

"I think we should contact her."

"What if it's a test or a trick?"

"What does it matter at this point? Anyway, I think it's real."

Jack rubs his head again, grimacing but also nodding. "But if this woman's been trying find the island for three years and can't…"

"We can tell her about Desmond, give her hope." She reaches over and places her hand on Jack's. "It means we don't have to do this alone."

"You don't have to do this alone."

Kate pulls her hand away. "Jack…"

He pushes his chair back, creating more space between them. "No, no, I'm just saying, it's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too."

x x x


	3. Between the Wish and the Thing

x x x

**September 18, 1975**

High winds, sunny, dry.

The electricity's still out so all research was suspended today. In the morning I worked on revising my article using Dr. Lorenz's suggestions. Hopefully it will be ready for the next mail bag. In the afternoon I gave in to Gerry's badgering to take a break. We hiked to the west beach and had a swim and cookout - just the two of us. Just what I needed, what we needed. We've both been so pre-occupied lately. I think he's made a breakthrough with the placebo group, but he's still frustrated by the lack of progress with Joseph, Diane and Richard. Once the lab's running again I want to re-run the forecasting data from Taipei and Oslo. We didn't expect last night's storm to be so powerful.

**September 19, 1975**

High winds, cool, 3-4 inches of rain, ashy substance fell for approximately 15 minutes around noon (from the other island?).

Electricity's still out. All the kids were disappointed that movie night (Jaws – something about sharks – how appropriate since Lucky's arrival!) was postponed. Gerry's gone to check the animals because Santos is sick.

**September 20, 1975**

Breakout confirmed. Gerry's missing. 1 workman and 1 nurse killed. No sign of J, D and R.

**September 21, 1975**

Gerry's dead. They found his body by the waterfall. It's happening, just like he predicted. It's all collapsing. I'm so very afraid.

xxx

"Ms. Widmore?"

Penny jumped at the voice calling down to her. "Yes."

"The marina called, your guests are on their way."

"Thanks, Robert."

She closed the diary, marking the page with a bookmark, though it did not really matter, the rest of the pages were blank. Her hands shook as she placed the small red book on the night table. With nothing to hold onto, the tremors increased, goose bumps broke out over her arms and chest. A trickle of sweat slipped down her back as she stood. She picked up a few files from the bed and her laptop, tucking them under one arm, their weight anchoring her somewhat. With her free hand she smoothed the bed covers and then left the cabin.

Penny shaded her eyes as she stepped out onto the deck. She placed her computer and the files on the table. Another cloudless day, the sky as blue as the water below. All around her sails snapped and whipped in the wind, blocking her view of land. The_ Redux_ was docked at the furthest end of the pier, its size made it difficult to come through the reefs. She strained over the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jack and Kate.

Robert, whom she had not heard approach, cleared his throat. He stood beside her, leaning against the rail, eyes scanning the harbour. Under his guise of nonchalance, she could sense curiosity and protectiveness, of his boat and of her, his eccentric employer.

This had to be it. She didn't think she could tackle another disappointment. Four steps forward, another eight back and what felt like fifteen steps sideways and upside down. She had never felt closer to finding Desmond. And yet.

Finally two figures came into view, a man and a woman. They paused when they saw the_ Redux_, conferring together, Penny imagined, finalizing what they would tell her and what would remain between them. She held up her hand, a greeting, if not a full wave. They seemed to confer again, before replying in kind, Jack first and then Kate.

She met them halfway down the gang plank, hand out stretched. Again, Jack took the initiative, shaking it first even though he was behind Kate.

"I'm Penelope," she said, hoping this simple statement would exude the trust necessary to make this work. "Penny."

"Jack."

"Kate."

Jack looked as she expected from his photos, almost familiar, even though they had only spoken on the phone, once from his home in Los Angeles and once last night from the hotel in Nassau. Kate surprised her, which was fair considering Penny only knew her from the grainy pre-crash mug shot and an almost gaunt post- rescue newspaper photo. She seemed softer, younger, and surprisingly, very pregnant, which undoubtedly complicated this meeting and everything else.

She ushered them up to the main deck and settled them in two chairs, under the shade of an umbrella. She herself was surprisingly reluctant to sit, to ask her questions or get her answers. Instead she ducked into the kitchen, getting them drinks, arranging some fruit on a plate, looking for her sunglasses. Robert followed her down, watched her fiddling. He settled himself at the table, put on his reading glasses and opened his newspaper. When everything was arranged on a tray, she still didn't return to the deck. He cleared his throat again. Penny turned to him, and he looked at her over his glasses, eyebrows raised.

"Better go up and make sure she doesn't blow up my boat."

Penny smiled, once again remembering her luck to have found a friend like Robert, who understood her if not her quest, to have found Jack and Kate, whatever the outcome of this meeting. She picked up the tray and returned to the sunshine.

x x x

It was night when they finished. Penny watched as Jack took Kate's hand as they gingerly navigated the steep descent from the _Redux _to the pier and disappeared into the darkness. She felt exhausted, her throat raw from speaking, from crying. Yet she was also exhilarated, elated. She felt like doing a flip off the boat, grabbing Robert and dancing around, screaming. Desmond was alive!

At first they had only exchanged snippets of information, testing each other, searching for clues in the reactions. Penny had showed them several photos of Desmond, of him alone, one with his brothers and several of them together. Jack and Kate had looked them over, studying them. She thought she could see recognition but they confirmed nothing, especially Kate who regarded her if not coldly, then with great reservation.

So Penny told them her story, how in August 2001, when she was still Desmond's emergency contact despite their separation and her subsequent marriage, his racing marshal had contacted her, with the news of Desmond's failure to check in at the next port. His last radio transmission had been somewhere off the east coast of Papua New Guinea, reporting all was well and some rambling about fig trees and shade, one of his favourite Dickens quotes. At the time, she had imagined him holed up in some port, defeated and drunk, ashamed to admit he had quit. Then as the months passed without a word, the guilt set in over her initial assumptions. She had mourned him, put him to rest in her mind, and finally her heart.

About a year later, her father had a stroke, and before his second one a day later, that left him all but dead expect for the machines, he instructed his lawyers to give Penny three items: a shoebox, a diary and an e-mail printout.

The shoebox was full of letters from Desmond withheld from her by her father, once again thinking he knew best. The diary belonged to her Aunt Karen, a woman whom she had never met but had learned from family gossip was a black sheep, the activist who had left Oxford to protest nuclear weapons' testing, had left England for America to follow a bohemian Dutch doctor named Gerry DeGroot, had left the States to live on some sort of commune where she died. The last item remained a mystery for some time, a typed two line printout of an e-mail to her father from someone only identified as DHARMA Swan employee 108, confirming the package's arrival and asking for further instructions. The letter was dated a week after Desmond's disappearance.

She treasured those lost letters, alive with Desmond's language and love, his persistence in the face of her silence. The diary was more unsettling, dating between 1974-1975, the last year of her aunt's life. There was detailed entries about the weather, but little exposition to help her wade through the vague references to events on the commune, which seemed more like a university campus at times with mentions of students, labs, and research subjects. The diary ended abruptly, with a series of ominous entries about a blackout, a breakout and her husband's sudden death.

Her mother was no help in decoding the diary. She had never met Karen, only knew that her sister-in-law was a meteorologist, had long ago fallen out with her brother, and had died under strange circumstances.

She had spent months trying to figure out her father's gift. She stood at his bedside, staring at his ashen face, imploring him wake up for completely selfish reasons, to provide her with some context. Was he merely bequeathing her a family heirloom or trying to absolve himself of the guilt he felt about forcing Desmond away? Penny felt there was more to it, that this e-mail from the DHARMA person somehow connected Desmond with her Aunt.

She persisted in her research, struggling to understand her aunt's published research on weather patterns and chaos theory and a puzzling book written by Gerry about parapsychology in the animal world. A footnote in both mentioned funding by something or someone called the DHARMA Initiative. She pursued this discovery, searching for mentions of DHARMA on the web, contacting the University of Michigan where Karen had completed her doctorate, and running newspaper searches. Nothing turned up, which made her more suspicious that something was being covered up.

Finally, a furtive search through her father's office, where she should have started in the beginning, turned up DHARMA's Annual Report from 1989. This two page document contained a preamble about saving the world, a list of scientific sounding projects, and a budget in the low millions. There was no mention of its history, the DeGroots or the location of the program. How her father came to have it, she had no idea.

She made a leap, she had to for it all to make sense. Finding DHARMA, meant finding out what happened to Desmond, maybe even finding Desmond.

Jack and Kate listened to all this with blank faces, unmoved by the history she had laid at their feet. It wasn't until Penny showed them the video file on her computer that they were unable to withhold their emotions.

"Yes, yes I can hear you." A scruffy but beaming face bobbed up and down on the screen. Jack's empty beer bottle fell from his grasp, rolled across the floor; Kate paled and gripped the arms of her chair.

"Who is this? Who am I speaking to?" Penny's voice, echoed back to her.

"Charlie ... Charlie Pace. I'm a survivor of Flight 815, Oceanic Flight 815."

They watched the video in silence. Penny did not interject, knowing their questions would follow, allowing them to process the flicker of a conversation, the clanging, Charlie's disappearance and reappearance, another person's yelling and the boom, subdued and tinny on the recording but she imagined deafening in person.

Jack picked up the computer and held it close, looking at the final paused frame, a spray of water and what might have been Charlie's shoulder. He played it again. Kate closed her eyes this time but listened intently.

"How?" Jack asked.

"I've been tracking and isolating possible sources of the phenomena listed in the Annual Report. I got a hit on one of them, electromagnetic abnormalities, last November. I began to monitor all transmissions near the coordinates, though no land masses or shipping lanes were nearby. There was nothing for about a month. Then one afternoon while I was reviewing the tapes, I stumbled across this live transmission."

Kate spoke for the first time since introducing herself. "And since?"

"Nothing on this channel or anything close." Penny watched them exchange looks, flashes of pain, anger and longing, for what she was unsure. When they looked back to her she sensed their guards had dropped slightly. Her patience nearly exhausted, she tried again.

"I've given up everything to find nothing, but finally I know this is something," she gestures to the computer still in Jack's hands. "I heard this man who was on your flight, Charlie, call out his name. I heard his voice….Can you help me?"

With this plea, Jack put the computer down and picked up a photo of Desmond, one of the two them, lying together on couch, happy, relaxed, in love. It was taken at the after party for one of the shows she had produced, a Midsummer Night's Dream or maybe it was The Importance of Being Ernest, she couldn't remember which. A lifetime ago for both of them.

"Desmond was alive when we left the island."

Penny nodded and kept nodding, as Jack began to tell his own story, about a chance encounter and a room under the earth, a twisted tale that began to fill in some of the gaps, opening more, and if not lessening her anxiety, then starting to rebuild her faith.

After dinner, Jack sat engrossed in Karen's journal, making notes, drawing what looked like a map of two islands. Kate stood at the stern, watching the sunset, lost in her thoughts. Penny joined her. Despite their awkwardness before, despite what she knew about this woman's past, she felt drawn to Kate. Maybe it was an artificial desire, wanting to have another woman to share this with. She tried to think of something appropriate to say, not wanting to strain their fragile trust by indulging her curiosity about the baby or probing Kate's curious manner with Jack, one minute they acted as intimate as lovers, the next they were strangely aloof.

It surprised her when Kate spoke first. "What happens when the Desmond you find is not the Desmond you remember?"

Penny waited a moment before responding. She noticed Kate stated this as a fact, not a mere possibility. "Well, I'm not the same person anymore either."

"What if he no longer wants you? Could you find him and then let him go, after all this?"

"If that's what he truly wanted, yes. I fought for us before and lost him under better, easier circumstances. I have dreams but I'm under no illusions."

"You know about me, my past?"

"Yes."

"Some things you can't ever change, no matter who what happens, but sometimes that's for the best, having parts of you that are immovable, that you wouldn't want altered, for better or for worse…" Kate looks down and studies her hands, as if unused to making speeches like these. "No one will be able to take away this, that you fought for him, no matter what the consequences, happy ending or not."

"And you, if this was the ending for you, today, is that enough?"

Kate looked Penny directly in the eyes, perhaps for the first time today. "I'm going to see this through, whatever the ending."

x x x

Author's note.

The full Dickens's quote Penny said came from Desmond's last radio transmission during the race was "Train up a fig tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit under the shade of it."

This chapter's title is based on a quote by an anonymous author.


	4. A Place with its own Harvest

Hurley sat at the edge of the dock waiting for Desmond. His feet dangled over the side, the soles of his shoes skimmed the water. He was early, but he needed to get out of there. Although the last three months had been the most comfortable, living at the barracks still freaked him out and he looked forward returning to the beach.

Hot water, a real bed, and electricity didn't make up for the fact that his group was still out numbered by the Others. Sure, they acted all friendly now but he felt that lurking under their new "Our home is your home" smile was their old weirdo "I want to eat your babies" demeanour. Of course, it didn't help that many of his friends stumbled around like zombies, just going through the motions, barely acknowledging each other on their way to the farm or dining hall.

Maybe everyone felt more homesick now that they were actually living in homes. Or maybe no one wanted to get any closer since the probability of that attachment being severed by monsters, traitors, one eyed psychos, commandos dropping from the sky, plagues and other random island curses was really, really high.

Still it had been quiet lately. They hadn't lost anyone in four months, a record to break all records, not since Kate didn't return from checking on Jack.

They had searched for weeks, this island and even the small one. No sign of them at the quarantine site or anywhere else, just Jack's shoes found lying on the sand near the water. Despite whatever Rose said about knowing they were still alive, most people believed Jack and Kate had succumbed to the sickness, wandered delirious into the jungle and died. A few suspected foul play prompting Sayid to have several long "conversations" with Ben, where Ben had returned looking worse than his previous "conversations" with Sayid in the hatch. This act had almost broken their truce with the Others but then Locke had somehow calmed everyone down, insisting they needed to work together, stay together. Strangely this speech had cooled people off, maybe because he had sounded like Jack or maybe because everyone was just tired of fighting.

Some good things had happened since they came here, like Aaron learning to sit and having grass to crawl on, and the day he found a treasure trove of Willie Nelson albums in Goodwin's crawlspace. Even Sun was doing well, having surpassed Juliet's predictions. She was really big and due soon, which meant Jin was going crazy, in the little ways most new dads would be, and in the big ways that came from having babies here.

Yesterday he had dragged Hurley to go see Juliet. Even though Jin's English was pretty good now, he wanted Hurley to translate for him, which made no sense, since Hurley had picked up like twelve words of Korean. But Jin just wanted to make sure Juliet understood. So he listened, as Jin explained to him in English, what he wanted and then they had gone together to Juliet's house. It was awkward, not only because Juliet always made him feel awkward, but because this was a dreadful conversation.

"So Juliet, Jin wants you to know, if something goes wrong, you know, in the birth and you have to make a choice, the choice is Sun."

Jin nodded vigorously beside him, and added, "Sun."

Juliet had stared back, arms folded. "If I have to choose, between Sun and the baby, you want me to save Sun?"

Hurley and Jin had exchanged looks and then both nodded.

"Sun," Jin confirmed.

"Well, what if Sun has already made clear to me a different choice?"

Hurley and Jin looked at each other again, and then Jin just exploded in Korean, each sentence seemingly more menacing than the last. Hurley stood back as Juliet calmly explained how it was her duty to honour her patient's wishes. This just made Jin angrier and even though Hurley didn't understand a word of it, he felt that Jin was listing all the ways Juliet had already broken the Hippocratic Oath and that she dared to speak to him about duty. Juliet let him yell at her for a few more minutes and then closed the door, telling Jin to take it up with his wife.

So wanting to avoid more conversations like this, Hurley was pleased it was his turn to go sit by the signal fire that they still kept at the old beach. It would be good to go back for a while. He was looking forward to seeing Desmond again, even if he had pretty much stopped speaking. At least Desmond still listened, which was than better than Sawyer, who had similarly lost his voice and spent most of his time skulking around his house, refusing to let anyone in except Locke.

x x x

A week later Hurley sailed back to the barracks and convinced Desmond to join him for dinner. Desmond had never settled in there, though he had briefly shared a house with Bernard and Rose. One day he just reclaimed the_ Elizabeth_, which had played such a pivotal role in the fight against the Dharma people, and sailed it back to the beach, made it his home. As far as Hurley knew, he didn't try leaving again, just sailed it back and forth, shuttling the signal fire people, exchanging the fish he caught for food from the farm.

Hurley liked the boat, often wondered if maybe Desmond would let him stay on it. Sailing made him feel free and clean, and he could easily pretend he was on a fishing trip or something. He thought Charlie would have liked it too.

The barracks were quiet when they returned, normally the children played outside before dinner but this evening the place was deserted.

Hurley thought something bad must have happened until he saw Sawyer sitting on his porch reading, which was good sign. Hurley had cleared the books out of Goodwin's house when he moved in and brought them over to Sawyer, hoping to cheer him up, but the books had remained where he had left them, sitting on a pile on the porch, probably a bit mouldy from all the rain, until now.

Hurley called over, "Hey, where's everyone?"

"Well, the Mansonites have gone to worship Mr. Clean or Four-eyes or whoever the deity of the day is," Sawyer drawled, putting his book down so he could turn the page, one arm lay limply at his side. "Our people are similarly occupied."

"Dude, what happened to your arm?"

"Turns out I saved the day again." Sawyer touched the small bandage. "Only O negative on the island, transfused momma and baby."

"Sun had the baby!"

"Bingo."

"And they're okay, like ten fingers, ten toes okay?"

"Thanks to me."

"Boy or girl?" Desmond asked.

"A boy, whom they graciously declined to name after me."

"That's awesome." Hurley felt a big grin spreading over his face. "Maybe our luck is changing."

"Well, if we're all going to procreate, the next shipwreck or plane crash better contain a few Laker girls." A cloud crossed over Sawyer's face for a moment. "Now skedaddle, go ooh and ahh over the little tyke and let me get back to my book."

Hurley hurried over to the medical centre, Desmond in tow. Maybe this was a sign that everything was going to be okay.

x x x

Author's notes: Thanks for reading, more to come soon.


	5. Having the Colour of Emeralds

"Katie?" The connection crackles, tiny sparks of electricity dance in her ear. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

She stops pacing and grips the phone tightly, close to her ear. She sinks into the couch with relief. Her performance as the hysterical pregnant lady, clutching her belly as if it were only her hands keeping the baby in, had been impressive enough for the commanding officer to break protocol. He wouldn't give her a number to reach Sam in Kabul, if that's even where he was, but in order to rush Kate out his office before her water broke on his lovely Persian carpet, he promised her father would call her.

"I don't have much time. What's wrong?"

"I'm fine, Dad. The baby's fine too."

"Less than one month to go. I wish I could be there."

"Me too."

"They gave me your message."

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Not over the phone," he replies immediately, without clarifying what she meant.

"I need to know how you're involved."

"Katie, we can't talk about this, it's part of the deal."

"We're running out of time."

"I was just a messenger, Kate. I'm sorry."

"Well, take a message back. Tell them we'll do this with or without them."

"Do what?"

"Go back, get everyone else."

"These people don't negotiate. I think you already know that."

"Which people? Is the army involved? Do you mean Dharma? Widmore?"

"Widmore?" Sam repeats, sounding genuinely surprised, and Kate is unsure if the reference shocks or confuses him. "Look you need to leave this alone…You're home now. That's all that matters."

"I can't."

The static hums and clicks. For a moment she thinks the connection's been lost and then Sam speaks up. "All I know is that they're interested in who was on your flight."

"WHO is interested?"

"I have to go…Take care of yourself."

The line is cut before she can reply. Kate keeps the phone pressed to her ear, the dial tone sounds sour, mocking even. She turns disconnects but still holds onto the phone, wishing she had someone else to call, to hear a friendly voice, have an uncomplicated conversation.

Kate curls up on the couch, an act that seems endless as her centre of gravity works against her these days, but it's simpler than getting up, walking to the bedroom, getting undressed and starting all over again. She pulls a blanket up, tucking it around the mountain of a belly she has come to fondly think of as Mount Everest.

The phone's still in her hand. It's passed eleven in San Diego, too late to call Jack on the east coast, though he would pretend not to mind being woken up, probably wouldn't mind, but she doesn't feel like talking to him. Kate counts off the hours on her fingers, deciding it's still too early to call London or she would have checked in with Penny. Maybe she had some news or at the very least Kate could have listened to her natter on for a while about something funny Desmond did once.

She places the phone on the coffee table and closes her eyes, tries to sleep. Naturally as soon as Kate wants to sleep, the baby starts somersaulting, preparing no doubt for hours of womb Olympics.

She thinks about her mother, wishes she was here to talk to about all this, about the baby. Did her mother also crave key lime pies and olives? Did she feel lonely, empty, even though she was sharing her body with another person? Did she worry about being a good mother? Well, maybe these were not the best things she could take up with her mother, but someone's mother. Someone.

x x x

There are three other women in the ward. One, the hostess, Kate calls her, is having her third baby and is extremely chatty. She makes her rounds, offering advice and insists their labour may be different but her tone implies they would be foolish if they dared deviate from her own experience. Even after the epidural kicks in, Kate feels like punching her in the face. The others are fine, and keep to themselves. The one across from her already had her baby, a little girl, whom Kate has watched being passed around to a steady stream of relatives, while the parents look on in awe. The third woman is alone, like Kate, and she avoids everyone's eyes.

Kate lies on her side, hugging a small pillow to her body. Though she can barely feel anything now, she senses that everything is moving forward. Its comforting that her body knows what to do, doesn't need her at this point to do anything but wait. She knows all too soon that will end.

She dozes off and on. Scents rather than images invade her dreams: musty salty air, damp earth, overripe fruit and sweat. When she wakes she half expects to be lying in her tent on the beach, but she knows that's not possible so she holds it inside for a moment, inhaling deeply before it dissolves.

It's dark and quiet when she opens her eyes. Someone has drawn the curtain around her bed, only a dim light above her shines, flickering slightly. Outside a cart rattles down the hallway. She tries to turn over but everything below her waist feels sluggish. Someone from behind helps roll her gently onto her back.

"Hey."

"You're back."

Jack kisses her forehead. "I shouldn't have left."

"How'd it go?"

"Okay… How are you?"

"I'm a little cold."

He unfolds a blanket at the end of the bed and tucks it around her. His gaze travels between her face and the monitor next to the bed tracking her heart rate and contractions. "You're doing great."

"So, what happened?"

"Let's talk about it later."

"No, it's fine. Distract me."

Jack pulls his chair closer to the bed and sits, leaning forward. "Nothing really. I gave them all the data. They promised to look it over."

"Could they tell you anything?"

"They think the reoccurring numbers are just coincidences, but they'll run them through some programs, track the dates and coordinates."

"Did they buy your story, about looking for the South Pacific Bermuda Triangle?"

"Maybe, I think so."

"And were they as you imagined? Eggheads?"

Jack chuckles, "They didn't disappoint. Slide rules and pocket protectors."

"How are we doing?" A nurse interrupts and asks Jack to leave while she examines Kate. She does so gently and quickly, making approving sounds. "About eight centimetres, you're almost there. How's the pain?"

Kate shifts slightly, stretching. "It's okay."

The nurse walks over to the head of the bed and studies a printout from the monitor, and then leans over. "I got you a private room, for after. It's the least I could do. I didn't recognize you at first, but then I saw him, the doctor, and I put two and two together." She hesitates, and her voice drops almost to a whisper. "This must have been a nice surprise, a miracle even….I hope."

Kate, doesn't reply, just sucks in her breath as she feels the dull pressure of a contraction roll through her.

"The staff will keep this quiet, make sure the press doesn't find out."

"Thanks."

"Get some more rest. Dr. Evans will be by shortly."

Jacks returns once the nurse leaves, but he doesn't sit this time. "I made a stop on my way back from Princeton."

"Where?"

"Alabama."

"And?"

He takes out his wallet and hands her a folded piece of paper. "And, this is for you."

Kate unfolds it. It was a photocopy from the _Daily Mountain Eagle_ from 1977. "What is this?"

"Local Boy Places Third in Bee," Jack indicates to a photo in the bottom right corner. "Read the caption."

"James Ford, 8, shakes hands with Alfred Cousins, head judge of the Scripps HowardNational Spelling Bee in Pittsburgh last weekend," she reads, and then studies the photo. The boy, dressed neatly in a shirt and tie, had a big grin, dimples, and hair that wouldn't stay flat at the back. Kate looks at it carefully before reading the rest. "Ford, a third grade student at T.R. Simmons Elementary School was the youngest finalist in the history of the competition. He spelled thirty eight words correctly before faltering on the word Smaragdine…Smaragdine, what does it mean?"

"I had to look it up. It means 'having the colour of emeralds'."

"This is…" She trails off, her thumb grazing the photo. She imagines showing this to Sawyer. He would shrug it off, casually remark, 'The colour of emeralds… ain't that a fact'.

"Thank you, Jack."

"You're welcome."

x x x

Jack leaves the hospital four days after Ellen was born to go home, to Kate's house, for a few hours. He'll shower, shave and make some calls to friends in the NICU at St. Sebastian. Kate refused to join him and he didn't press her to take a break. He left her sitting beside Ellen, eyes glued to her daughter's tiny chest, mostly obscured with tubes, wires and tape, watching it rise and fall in time with her own breath.

He stands in the parking lot, squinting in the sunlight. He's trying to remember where he parked, what his car even looks like, when he hears someone approach.

"Jack."

He recognizes the voice instantly; it pinches every nerve. Jack turns around slowly, vaguely wondering if this meeting had occurred before Ellen's diagnosis would he feel as inclined to kill the man before him.

Jack rushes forward into Michael, pushing him up against a car. The alarm goes off, twittering and bleating, like an excited spectator. Jack hits him twice, three times, and for a moment it's Ben's face he sees. Michael doesn't resist, he just goes limp, and would have fallen if Jack wasn't holding onto him.

When he feels Michael's nose crunch under his fist, a small part of Jack's mind calls for restraint. He lets go and Michael slides down the car onto the asphalt.

"I think you broke my nose."

"Then it's convenient you're at a hospital."

Michael pulls himself up, spits out bloods and wipes more from his nose on the back of his hand. "Don't think I didn't expect this."

"What do you want?"

"Walt, he said to come."

"Why?"

"We knew you were back. I wanted to come before, but I didn't know if it was safe."

"For you or for us?"

"I figured you guys, 'the only two survivors' had a good reason for keeping quiet. Did they let you go?"

"You mean who did I kill to get off?"

"Jack…"

"I know, I know, 'you had to'," Jack says wearily. "A lot happened since you left."

"I can imagine."

"No, I don't think you can."

"How's Kate?"

"She's up there, watching her daughter die."

"God…," Michael winces. "I'm sorry."

"I bet you are."

"What's wrong?"

"They don't know. It's as if there's a hole in her heart but there's no hole."

"Do you think it has something to do with the island?"

"I don't know Michael, do you?" Jack steps closer, fists clenched again. "Is that why you're here?"

"Like I said, Walt wanted me to come."

"Well, that's terrific but I don't have time for a reunion right now."

"Look, we're not staying too long in any one place. But you can reach me here for the next few days." Michael reaches into his pocket, pulls out a piece of paper, and forces it into Jack's hand.

Jack shoves it in his pocket without looking at it and turns to leave, then stops. "Ben gave you some coordinates. What were they?

"Ben?"

"Henry Gale, on the dock, he told you where to go."

"We followed the compass on the boat, northwest to 325 degrees."

"Where did that take you?"

"Five days later we reached Fiji."

"Where on Fiji?

"The Lau islands. Wait, are you trying to go back? He said we couldn't."

Jack doesn't respond. He walks back to the hospital. Forget the shower. He'll make the calls to St. Sebastian from here and he'll phone Penny and the mathematicians at Princeton too, tell them about 325 and Fiji. But first he wants to sit with Ellen, with Kate. He senses Michael's harmless but he doesn't want to leave them alone.

Michael calls after him, "I'm sorry, Jack, for everything. Tell Kate I'm sorry."

Jack sprints back inside and up the stairs to the special care nursery. Ellen's the only baby in it, a translucent bundle with a shock of black hair lying in an incubator at the centre of the room. Kate's sitting beside her in a rocking chair, one finger stroking Ellen's left foot from a hole in the incubator. Jack stands back, watching them.

He finally understands what Michael did, why he did it.

x x x


	6. Flesh and Blood, Flesh and Bone

x x x

The autumn and winter were dotted with milestones. There were literal ones, actual signposts measuring distances and offering direction, and the figurative ones, legacies and turning points.

The anniversary of the crash came and went. While Jack had raised a glass in memory of his father earlier that week, there was no such poignant moment on the 22nd. Marking the actual date seemed pointless when he thought about it every day, agonized over it every night. There had been an event in Sydney to commemorate the dead, the missing, as some optimists had chosen to call them since Jack and Kate's rescue. They had been invited but nobody expected them to attend, no one expected them to want to fly again.

He had spent the day as he had the three weeks before, moving between Kate's house and the hospital, trading off so one of them was always with Ellen. The day stood out from the others only because his bewildered mother had shown up and demanded to know if the child that Jack was spending all his time with was a Shephard. Jack had said no but then Kate had embraced her, whispered something, and Margo had burst into tears. Now she too participated in the vigil, driving up every few days to murmur stories about curious rabbits and naughty mice.

It seemed impossible that the press had yet to discover Ellen. Out all the improbable things he and Kate were juggling, this seemed the least likely secret to be kept. Countless people should had noticed Kate's pregnancy, recognized her from the rescue press coverage and done the math. Even if that had inexplicably escaped public notice, since then Ellen's medical charts had passed through dozens of hands from San Diego to Los Angeles to Baltimore. Undoubtedly, he had thought, the urge to gossip or make some money off a tragic and therefore profitable epilogue would have trumped anyone's sense of kindness, professional obligation, loyalty to a fellow doctor and possibly whatever Sam or his mysterious superiors might be doing to control the story. But nothing. All the excitement and grief that followed Ellen's birth had remained private, as sheltered as the fucking island.

By mid-October Ellen had gained enough weight that her doctors actually contemplated releasing her for the weekend. He had watched Kate give her daughter her first real bath, Ellen's normal lethargy replaced with delightful gurgling. But then the fever returned, her tiny legs swelled, and her shortness of breath increased. The weight she gained dropped and they were back where they started. Medicines were changed and surgery was contemplated but there was no apparent virus to fight or repairs to be made.

Ellen hung on, stubborn, resilient for two more weeks, and then slipped away the day before Halloween.

She was there and then she wasn't.

He had driven them home, eyes so focused on the brown Honda in front with the empty car seat in the back and some stuffed red dog looking out the rear window that he almost missed the exit. Kate's sobs had turned to hiccups by the time he pulled into the driveway. He was at the front door before he realized she had gotten back into the car, was pulling out without saying a word. He let her go, went inside and poured himself a drink.

He was more than halfway through the bottle when she returned, eyes still red and glassy but she looked more grounded than he had seen her in weeks.

"Where'd you go?"

"For a walk."

"The park?"

"No, the beach. I finally went to the beach." She sat beside him on the couch, pick up his glass, sniffed it and took a sip. She frowned and got up, returning with a beer. "I always wanted to go to a beach when I was a kid. We'd go fishing at Clear Lake and there was a little stripe of sand along the shore. Sometimes we'd have a cook out there and I would build castles and dig holes. But it wasn't until my mom took me to Florida, after the divorce, that I realized a beach wasn't really beach unless there was an ocean."

"Living here, I took all that for granted. I wanted to see snow."

"I always loved the first snow, snow at Christmas, and snow days, but unless you skied, the rest was just a pain."

"One time I made a snowball from the frost in my freezer and threw it at Lana Smithers, the girl across the street. It fell apart before it hit her. She laughed and tackled me."

"That's what you get for picking on girls."

"She was twice my size, that's what I get for being stupid."

They both laughed and then caught themselves. The easy conversation dissolved as quickly as it started, replaced by a heavy silence. Jack poured another drink and Kate left hers untouched. He's not sure how long they sat like that, side by side, not even lost in thought, just sitting, waiting, unsure of what to do next.

She was there and then she wasn't.

Then all of a sudden, like Jack had missed something, been somewhere else for a moment, Kate was nestled on top of him, knees aside his thighs, holding his head, kissing him. He couldn't help pull away; the timing of it all nipped at his conscience and tweaked his jealously.

This wasn't about them.

She ignored his resistance, pulled him back, grinded against him. He groaned and she whispered something in return, so low that all he heard was his name, maybe it was only his name. He caught her head and pushed it up so he could search her face. She stared back, eyes flashing with resentment at his need for some sort of confirmation.

"Jack," she said it again, simply, not a plea or a query or even an invitation, just his name.

He released her head and she kissed him again. Their teeth knocked and he opened his mouth, surrendered.

For now it didn't matter.

x x x

"Did you know that there are three species of Turkey, two native to America and one from here? Isn't that a coincidence? Aren't you curious to know how the Fijian one compares?"

This is how Penny tried to woo Jack and Kate to spend Christmas with her in Fiji. There was more, something about her grandmother Trudy's trifle recipe being faxed from Kent and tickets to the island's Annual Yam Festival. She had sounded so excited, so desperate for the company, that Jack felt they should go.

Unfortunately he was scheduled to be on call over Christmas so they deferred the invitation until New Year's. He was back at work part time. Tuesdays through Thursdays he was at St. Sebastian, doing consultations and minor surgeries, finding his footing again. The rest of week he spent with Kate in San Diego, working together to compile detailed records of every Oceanic passenger and crew member, hoping that Sam's comment about a special interest in people on the flight would take them somewhere.

Jack stayed in touch with Nelson and Wi, the mathematicians from Princeton who were part of the Global Consciousness Project, an independent research group who analyzed data generated from an international network of random event generators. The project tested a theory that events having a significant human impact may affect the randomness of the data, suggesting when the numbers appeared less random; it was an indication that mind and matter are intertwined in some fundamental way. Jack thought it sounded pretty ridiculous especially when Nelson described the project's practical application as "smile and the world smiles with you". However, who was he to judge, after all he had handed them a set a numbers supposedly meant to save the world.

Although they predicted it could take decades to unravel a mathematical explanation for the hatch computer code, Jack received weekly ruminations from Nelson about the numbers' possible significance. Some suggestions sent him back to his college textbooks. What did it mean if all but one of the numbers, if rearranged, were part of the first four known perfect numbers? The historical connections were equally obscure, one being a reference to Stanisław Lubieniecki a Polish astronomer who was born on August 23, 1623 and was noted for his illustration of 415 comets and his commitment to Socinianism, the belief that God's omniscience did not limit human free will. Jack's favourite of Nelson's theories was how all the numbers were found to be those of retired Yankees. Would it be so far fetched at this point that George Steinbrenner was behind everything?

Meanwhile Penny had been trying to retrace Michael's route or had been until November when Hurricane season arrived with a roar. Robert, her captain, insisted on docking in Fiji until April and was only willing to take the _Redux_ out if three days of clear weather were predicted.

Despite their lack of progress, Jack felt better than he had since he returned. Keeping busy helped hold the ghosts at bay. Touching Kate reminded him that he could feel something other than anger or regret.

It was her idea to go to church on Christmas Eve. She had been attending off and on since Ellen died, not so much the services but going to talk to the minister who was also the chaplain from the Children's Hospital. Jack had never been a regular churchgoer, just at the holidays, and then once he left for college the obligation to do even that ended. He remembers missing it a little, once he stopped going, missing the familiarity of it all.

They skipped the earlier nativity play and went to the midnight mass. Being around children was still too hard.

"Lift up thy eyes, and look from the place wherein thou now art, to the north and to the south, to the east and to the west."

The minister had a nice soothing voice. Jack tried to listen to the sermon, something about Abraham's choices building the foundation for Christ's birth, but his mind wandered, kept coming back to last Christmas.

He hadn't remembered the date until Claire had pointed it out. It was two days after he had made contact with Naomi's people. They had been lying in some underbrush, her hand covering Aaron's mouth in case he cried out. They didn't know where anyone else was, if anyone else was still alive. Unfamiliar voices called back and forth, gunshots echoed in the distance, he couldn't tell from which direction they came. He kept thinking they were all going to die here and it would be his fault.

Then Danielle had come out of nowhere, gestured for Claire and Jack to follow her, and led the way to a camouflaged hole in the ground. Ben and Alex were already in there. It was just wide enough for them all to sit down, knees tucked up to their chests.

Before Claire dropped off to sleep she had squeezed Jack's hand and said softly, "Merry Christmas".

It was Kate who held his hand now, would murmur the same words to him tonight, not in some hole in the ground, but pressed against him in their bed. Yet in many ways he was still in that hole, waiting and wondering, worried about everyone else, blaming himself.

x x x

_Trust Jacob._

She could always go back. That's what she kept telling herself as she paddled through another wave. She could turn on the motor at anytime, find her way back to the _Redux_.

_Trust Jacob._

Every night last week Penny had the same dream. She was on the _Redux_ dinghy in the middle of the ocean. She had nothing with her but a paddle, a bailer and a bottle of water. Unlike now where the waves tossed her back and forth, and her clothes, skin and hair were slick and stiff with a layer of salt, in the dream she had been gently propelled toward an island. On the shore a figure stood waiting bathed in sunlight. It was Desmond. She had rushed from the boat, run through the water and flung herself into his arms.

Throughout the sequence, a man's voice, not Desmond's, kept telling her to trust Jacob.

Jacob. There was no Jacob on the passenger manifest or crew list. No mention of a Jacob in her Aunt's diary or any other Dharma material. She had called Kate and asked her, about the name. Kate thought it was a little familiar, maybe someone she had never met from Others' camp. Penny hadn't mentioned the dream, didn't want to admit what she had been contemplating.

_Trust Jacob_.

The voice had sounded so sure and Desmond's presence had felt so real. His leanness, the ways the muscles stood out on his thin frame. His skin was darker and his hair lighter, longer than she remembered, but it was him. She woke up feeling his arms still around her, almost cracking her ribs, his beard tickling her cheeks.

So she had set out early on Christmas morning. It was a beautiful clear day and she piloted the _Redux_ south out to sea. Around noon she had eaten a turkey sandwich and watched a flock of pelicans dive for fish. When she was finished her lunch she stopped the boat and dropped anchor. It wouldn't touch bottom but its weight would hopefully keep the boat from drifting too far. She lowered the dinghy and climbed down. She would give herself a few hours, for what she was not sure, maybe just to prove to herself how foolish this all was.

Before she left, she had noted the _Redux_'s position in the log and the time she left. She took off her watch and left it on the counter. Robert would throttle her if he knew what she was doing but he had gone home to England for the holidays and wouldn't be back until the end of January. Kate and Jack were arriving at the end of the week. She imagined them laughing with her over her little adventure.

She paddled for what felt like a little over an hour when the wind picked up and the sky darkened. She should had turned on the motor then and travelled back the_ Redux_ which she could still see behind her, a bobbing dot, but she pressed on promising herself another few minutes.

The storm seemed to come from below, twisting her around. The sun disappeared and rain pelted down. She stopped paddling and just hung on as the dinghy whipped around. The storm appeared to only last for an instant but when the sky cleared and ocean became flat again the _Redux_ was no longer in sight. Whether it was behind her now or in front, she had no idea.

_Trust Jacob._

Penny couldn't tell if she had heard the voice this time or if was she was only remembering the words. At this point it didn't seem to matter. She picked a spot on the horizon and paddled toward it. Maybe this is what she wanted all along, a point of no return.

The weather fluctuated from calm to chaotic; the current seemed to have no particular rhythm. If it was still, she rested, if it grew rough, she paddled. She ignored the motor, it didn't seem right to use it. Several times she thought she saw something in the distance, a vessel or land but it turned out to be nothing.

She truly could not estimate how long she was out there, how much time had passed, hours or days. She could have been awake or dreaming when she saw pelicans again, a sign she was near coastal waters. She paddled, following the birds' path and soon she could make out an edge of land

Her heart leaped when she saw someone, a silhouette against a rocky coastline. Unlike her dream it was dusk and she couldn't see clearly. As she paddled toward the figure, the person waded into the water to meet her. The dinghy's hull scrapped against rocks and she dug the paddle in between them. The man came closer but she didn't have to wait to see his face to know it wasn't Desmond.

There was no time for disappointment to sink in because the stranger held out his hand and said her name. "Penelope?"

She nodded and he helped her out of the boat. Her legs were stiff from kneeling and they buckled when she stood. She stumbled and fell onto her hands and knees into the shallow water. The man half pulled her, half carried her to beach.

He gave her some water from a bottle. Her teeth were chattering so much, she could hardly swallow.

When she caught her breath, she asked, "Are you Jacob?"

"No," he looked at her thoughtfully, "I'm John."

x x x

More author's notes: Thanks to all who followed this far, especially Tahti. It's been a wild ride for me to write this. It started because I wondered if the flash forward was meant to imply that only Kate and Jack had got off the island. If so, how and when, and what were the chain of events that what would have led to Kate's aloofness and Jack's desperation (and awful beard!)? This is half of that answer. There is probably more to come but I think these six parts work on their own.

It was also fun to research details for this story. Although most barely made it into the text I now feel confident of my knowledge of South Pacific geography, San Diego hospitals and state parks, spelling bee winning words and boat mechanics. If you're interest, the Global Consciousness Project is real, as is the polish astronomer who I found by Googling the date 1623 and hoped something interesting would turn up. Also, special thanks to Lostpedia. Having only watched most episodes once when they aired I depended a lot on the site's episode summaries, character profiles and timelines. That is also where I stole the connection between the numbers and the Yankee players.


	7. Nailing a Cloud to the Sky

x x x

The first thing Desmond saw when he woke were the two angelfish, one turquoise and one black and white, flitting around a small aquarium by his bed on the _Elizabeth._ He reached out to touch the glass. The fish darted away.

This was new. Or was it?

He closed his eyes and concentrated. There was something important about the fish but he couldn't quite place their significance or even how he came to be in possession of them. He opened his eyes and the aquarium was still there, not crashed on the floor as he thought he remembered. He touched the glass again. The striped one stopped swimming and stared at him, almost earnestly, his round mouth opening and closing, as if imparting some special message.

There had been a party, a girl had given him the fish. "Take care of Cary Grant," she had said.

Cary Grant.

According to Kelvin, Radzinsky had been a huge fan. He had crammed his personal effects truck full of Grant's films, twelve of them, one for each month of what he thought would be his Dharma tour of duty. Kelvin had no patience for these viewings, called Grant a "pansy communist" every time Desmond pulled out a reel. He refused to watch any of them except for _North by Northwest_, and only then he said it was because he could tell Eva Marie Saint agreed Grant was a fool.

It was strange, Desmond could remembered all that nonsense about Kelvin but when it came to bigger things often his mind would go blank and it would take him a while to figure out where he was, literally and figuratively. Memories mixed with dreams, lies and truths were hard to separate and past, present and future ran together like a Celtic knot. It all took great focus to untangle, and even then he was never quite sure if he got it right.

He hadn't with the helicopter. The one he believed had come to save them all only deepened their losses. For this, Charlie had sacrificed himself.

Sometimes Desmond couldn't quite remember if Charlie was dead or alive. Even a year later, he still felt an urge to keep an eye on him. He would scan the crowd, half expecting to see him sitting by the fire strumming his guitar or popping out of the jungle. Other times it was almost as if Charlie had never been real, only a puckish companion to his follies.

The girl. Alex had given him the fish. She had picked his name for the gift exchange. There had been a party in the dining hall for Christmas. Yesterday or the day before. Two days ago.

"Take good care of Cary Grant and Leslie Caron," she had said and handed the aquarium to him.

Desmond hadn't wanted to deprive her of the fish. He explained it was too nice a present but she had insisted, saying she still had more fish back at her house. So he thanked her and she had scampered back to her mother's side, folded herself into Danielle so they seemed liked one person. He noticed Ben had watched all this from across the room, his standard expression of disdain at having to share his home with outsiders, at celebrating something he didn't care for, at having Alex show affection to anyone but him, momentarily dropped into a smile because he approved of his daughter's generosity.

After Alex gave him the present, Desmond he had sat watching everyone admire their homemade crafts and swapped keepsakes. Jin had carried Ki around the room, showing him off. Claire tried to get Aaron to play with the rocking horse Desmond had made but the boy was more interested in riding Vincent and the dog was more interested in the tempting smells drifting from the kitchen where Sayid and Sun had been sequestered all morning.

Even before he had the flash, it had all been a bit too much, the people, the noise. Someone, he couldn't tell who, had started to sing an unfamiliar carol, badly and there was lots of laughter. He had left the aquarium on the table and went outside. It was a beautiful day, weather unlike any he would ever learn to associate with Christmas. He sat on the stairs and watched the palms sway back and forth in the breeze and felt the sun on his face.

Just being outside made him feel better so he didn't mind when Locke had joined him a few minutes later.

"How do you like your fish?"

"They're nice. She shouldn't have done that though."

"I bet they're very soothing to watch." Locke pulled out an orange and started peeling it.

"You don't want to spoil your appetite, brother. I hear there's quite a feast coming."

"Back when the mysteries of Christmas were still, well, mysterious, I couldn't understand where Santa got his oranges. There was always one in the bottom on my stocking. I knew he made the toys in his workshop but how could he grow oranges at the North Pole? It didn't bother me that he could fly around the world on a sled pulled by reindeer but the oranges confounded me for years." Locke finished peeling the fruit and handed Desmond a piece.

"Oranges in your stocking, that's very British."

"My first foster mother was born in Leeds."

"Have you ever been to England?"

"No. This…" Locke made a sweeping gesture, "is actually my first time out of California, actually."

"So this is normal for you? The sunshine and heat at Christmas?"

"Pretty much…except it's nice to spend it with so many people."

"Then why are you out here?"

"I needed some air, like you." Locke tossed the peel on the grass. He stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. "I'm going to take a walk before dinner. I'll see you later."

Locke crossed the compound and headed toward the jungle. Just as he disappeared, a vision had caught Desmond off guard.

A trio of pelicans circled something in the water below. A man, he thought it was Jack, held a red book, it was small, like a diary. Then he saw himself fighting another man whose face he couldn't see. It ended with the aquarium crashing to the floor.

This what he remembered now as he looked at the fish. There hadn't been another vision since the party, no clues, other than the fish, to what it all meant, of what was to come. He noticed he had wedged the aquarium into the bookcase in some attempt to keep it stable. He didn't need a premonition to tell him that a loose glass container on a sail boat was a recipe for disaster.

With one last glace at the fish, Desmond got up, pulled on some shorts and went up to the deck. He walked from bow to stern, inspecting the hull and testing ropes. When he was satisfied all was well he dove into the ocean and swam the short distance to the beach.

A lone woman, he thought her name was Lillian, was tending the signal fire. She greeted him and offered him breakfast.

He sat in the sand drinking his tea and thinking about the fish. He didn't know Alex well enough to understand if she had been trying to be funny or ironic or if the names were just a coincidence. Caron and Grant were the stars of _Father Goose_, another one of Radzinsky's films. In it Grant played a drunken plane spotter on a deserted island in the South Pacific during World War II, whose solitary life was upset when he was joined by passengers from a bombed ship. In the classic plot of opposites attract he falls in love with one of the survivors, a prim school teacher played by Caron.

Desmond's reverie was interrupted by Hurley coming out of his tent, waving a walkie-talkie in his hand. "Hey, Locke wants you back at the compound."

"Why?"

"He called last night from his walkabout or whatever you call it, said you needed to be there when he got back." Hurley plopped down beside him. "And there was more, something about a magic box."

"A box? Like another hatch?"

"I don't know, man. This was Locke so it was hard to follow and I had already spent the night getting calls from Sayid, who was looking for Locke, wanted him to mediate some sort of situation back at Othersville. Maybe they need you too."

A chill settled over Desmond. "What situation?"

"Dude. I'm just the messenger. Sayid was being equally vague. You know how they are." Hurley's eyes narrowed. "Wait, do you 'know' something?"

Pelicans. Jack. The shattered glass and the fish spilling out onto the floor. It all seemed fairly mundane except for the fight. He clenched and unclenched his fist, remembering the crack he felt when he hit the unknown man's face.

"No."

"Oookay." Hurley looked even less convinced then he sounded. "Well, it's probably nothing. Maybe Sawyer got caught stealing the last of the booze or it's just Ben annoying everyone again with his end of the world prophesies."

"Maybe." Desmond finished his tea. "Do you want to come with me, then?"

"Yeah…No. I come here to get away from all that."

"Right." He got up and walked back toward the water and then stopped, turned to Hurley. "Did Jack ever have a little red book, like a diary?"

"Jack? Um, I don't think so. Why?"

"It's not important." He scratched his head. Maybe it hadn't been Jack at all. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later."

x x x

This wasn't really happening, Penny kept thinking as she and John trekked through the jungle. She wasn't really here. After everything, she couldn't have just gotten into a boat, not even a real boat, a dinghy, then randomly set out and found Desmond. It was too easy, even if she didn't understand exactly what had happened. This wasn't how she imagined seeing him again. In fact, nothing here was as she pictured. She thought the island would be more desolate but it was all quite lovely, so lush and green, so normal.

The illusion of normalcy ended when they came to a clearing whose perimeter was marked with tall metal pillars.

"What's this?"

"This is home."

John told her stay where she was while he approached one column, bent down and entered a code into a panel. Then he crossed into the clearing and waved her over. When she was on the other side John pressed the numbers again.

"What was that about?"

"Security."

"I thought you said everything was fine now."

"That depends on if you think it's for keeping people in or out."

Penny expected this was all she would get from John on that point. So far he had answered most of her queries with more questions and seemed strangely uncurious about her sudden arrival.

All he had said was, "Sometimes the island has a way of giving what you truly long for."

"Well, it sure took its sweet time," she had replied.

"Other times it can be a real pain in the ass."

Despite his ambiguity, John seemed kind enough. Penny remembers what Jack had told her about his past, how it was only after he and Kate were off the island that they learned about his paralysis. For them that explained a lot.

They walked for another half hour before John said, "Almost there."

"Good."

"I'll take you in through the back way to my house. We'll keep this quiet for now, let you and Desmond figure things out. I don't know if the others are ready for this."

"I understand," she said, even though that was an exaggeration.

She had been fairly calm until this point, plodding along, not really thinking about what would happen next. Now as they grew nearer she suddenly felt like turning back. What was she getting into? Who were these people, really? Her aunt had died here. Many people had died here.

And what had Kate said to her? What happens when the Desmond you find is not the Desmond you remember?

Penny must have looked panicked because John asked "Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes."

They crossed a little bridge over a stream but instead of following the path, they cut through some grass as tall as John.

"This probably isn't necessary, most people will be working at the farm by now," he apologized and then stopped, held his hand up to halt her too. There was shouting up ahead. Three or four different voices on top of each other. "Stay here."

Before she could say anything, John slipped through the grass and out of sight. She listened intently, unable to make out any of the words, just the richness of the anger. As Penny waited she started to shake or only became aware that she had been shaking all along. Suddenly the voices dropped and it sounded more like a conversation was happening. Then as quickly as they had fallen, the voices were raised again.

She knew she should stay where she was, wait for John, and circumvent this madness. Conversely, it was her recklessness that had taken her this far. She decided to trust her instincts and proceed. Penny pushed the grasses aside and stepped out behind some small houses. She followed the yelling and as she got closer she could make out the words.

"You confirmed he was dead!" Even with the raw rage that dripped from it, Desmond's voice was unmistakable.

Penny ran between two houses and out into another clearing. She gasped when she saw the scene in front of her. Four men and woman were gathered around a man kneeling on the ground, beaten and bloodied, cradling his arm. One of men, dark and lean, was barely holding a thrashing Desmond back.

Another man, pale, small and bespectacled, answered dismissively, "He promised us he would stay away."

"You knew, you knew he was alive?" Desmond cried, his eyes wild. This time he was addressing John.

"I lied because I knew this was happen and I didn't want anymore bloodshed. We banished Mikhail."

"You can't banish anyone from this bloody island."

"We would never have agreed to this truce, John, if he was still here," said the man holding Desmond.

"Am I really worse than Ben?" The beaten man spoke, spitting out blood before he continued. "Or you Sayid? I was only following orders."

Though it no longer looked like he was being held very hard by then, Desmond freed himself from Sayid's grasp and threw himself onto Mikhail, began to finish the job he had apparently started. Penny sensed the man deserved it but she couldn't bear to watch this.

"Desmond!"

Shocked faces turned in her direction. One of them, the silent blond woman, Penny sensed had been watching her for a while. There was no reaction from Desmond who continued to wrestle with Mikhail.

Penny ran closer and tried again. "Desmond!"

This time he jerked back and paused, still holding Mikhail but he didn't turn around. He refused to respond to what he most likely believed was a figment of his imagination.

"Desmond." This time it was John who spoke, softly and calmly. "It is Penny."

Again he hesitated, then dropped Mikhail and still crouched, slowly turned.

Their eyes met, both hooded with disbelief. Penny couldn't speak or move, she was afraid to do anything that might cause this moment to end. So she just stared and he stared back. She was aware of the others murmuring and more people gathering on the periphery. Someone dragged Mikhail away but she and Desmond remained transfixed in their spots.

A man with long dirty blond hair crossed in front, breaking their gaze. "I seem to have missed all the excitement." He dropped am armful of wood at Penny's feet and peered at her. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Frustrated, Penny swatted him aside and took a step closer. Desmond's eyes had dropped to the ground. If she reached out she could touch him, prove that neither of them were apparitions. She knelt and cupped his chin with both her hands, gently raised his eyes up to hers again.

He shuddered. "Is it really you?"

"If it's really you."

He grasped her wrists and their foreheads touched. There was something familiar buried beneath the island's scent, under the sweat and blood. It was really him.

"Was that you on the monitor last year?"

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked when she thought the question would have been "How?"

"I'd lost you, again." She tried to smile but her body heaved with a sob and tears poured out. He drew her up and into his arms, squeezing her as he had in her dream.

"I carried you in my heart," he whispered. "But you shouldn't be here. This place is – it's all wrong. It shouldn't be like this."

"There was no other way." Penny pulled back slightly so she could see his face again. Had his eyes always been this brown, this sad? "Believe me I tried."

He stroked her hair, ran his fingers down her face, down her side. He pulled her close again then stopped, his eyes crinkled. "Are you married?"

"Not anymore."

She had barely spoken the words when his mouth was on hers, probably would have been regardless of her answer. She was content to stand there all day, all night, kissing him, touching him, losing herself to him again but the crowd's curiosity had dissolved into impatience.

She could feel Desmond grow tense as people began to shout questions about rescue, move closer to Penny. The broke their embrace but Desmond kept one arm around her. One older woman reached out to touch her and Desmond slapped the hand away. The fierceness she had seen in him when he confronted Mikhail returned. He stood primed, ready to lash out.

John was trying to calm the crowd down, explain different things to two separate groups at once. No, rescue did not appear to be imminent but people were still looking for them, the right people. And yes, her arrival had been blessed by Jacob. As he fielded questions, Sayid approached Penny and Desmond, escorted them to the nearest house, followed by the man who had dropped the wood.

"I know you would like nothing better then to enjoy a quiet reunion," Sayid began, once they were inside. The four of them stood gathered in a living room. Penny noted it was full of chairs but no one sat. Desmond remained glued to her side, arm still protectively around her shoulders. "But…"

"But you have some questions," she finished.

"Indeed."

The blond man jumped in. "Like why you're a year late?"

"Sawyer…" Sayid warned.

"My house, my questions, pal."

Penny wasn't prepared for this, didn't know what to say. It had been hard enough to win Jack and Kate over but these people would be more cautious, wanted and needed more than she could give. She wished she could just talk to Desmond alone but that didn't look like it was going to happen.

"You're Sayid and Sawyer, from the place crash?" she confirmed as they nodded. "I'm Penelope Widmore. I've been looking for Desmond."

"We kinda figured that part out, it's not like Nostradamus here has tons of women falling over themselves to rescue him."

"And last year I made contact with one of your friends, Charlie."

"Right before a bunch of very angry people showed up claiming to work for you."

"I know, I'm sorry. That wasn't me."

"Yeah, well, we'll get back to that part, I'm sure."

"And then…and then nothing until I read in the paper that there were two survivors from the same flight Charlie claimed to be from."

"Walt and Michael?" Sayid asked.

"No, but they're back too. I've been working with Kate and Jack since June."

"Now that's a fucking lie and we all know it," Sawyer snarled. "Nice try sweetheart."

Desmond released Penny and advanced on Sawyer. "Not another word from you."

He dismissed the threat with a wave and threw himself into a chair. "This is just like before, with the parachute girl. She'll distract us with wild tales and promises of rescue and then boom – we'll be flat on our faces again."

"They were equally wary to work with me, after what happened to all of you. But they grew to trust me and we've been looking for you."

"How did you find us?" Sayid asked.

"It wasn't suppose to happen like this. I had coordinates, but there was nothing ever there. Then all of a sudden I'm here."

Desmond asked. "You came alone?"

"Yes."

"All of a sudden?"

"It was like a dream."

"It's true, I found her on the beach." John entered, followed by two excited women holding children.

"Of course, he believes her! If Tinkerbell showed up, he would clap his hands and tell us all to believe in fairies."

"James, we've both known this to happen before."

Sawyer looked like he wanted to respond but he instead he got up and left, slammed the door on his way out.

"Why don't we start at the beginning," John said, motioning everyone to sit. "Tell them what you told me about your aunt."

She began and everyone, except Desmond, interrupted with questions and comments. He just sat and listened, never taking his eyes off her. Even when they were finally alone after dinner he barely said two words, just gripped her hand tightly and led her to the dock.

"So this is your boat."

"Aye."

"The Elizabeth, not the Penelope?" she teased.

"It's bad luck to change the name."

"Yeah, I wonder what would have happened if you had changed it."

They both laughed and this broke some of the awkwardness that had settled over them once they were alone. They climbed the ladder onto the deck. Desmond seemed about to give her some sort of tour, when she pulled him down the stairs below deck, started to unbutton his shirt.

"I think I can find my way around. I've spent the last year on a boat."

"Pen…" he said, as she slid her hands across his chest and stomach.

"Oh, now you want to talk."

"It's been a while."

"No kidding."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." She kissed his throat. "Do you remember this?"

"Mmmmm."

"And this?"

His shyness evaporated as her hands drifted behind, pressed him against her. He grabbed her waist and kissed her softly, then harder. They fumbled, intertwined, like this toward the cabin at the end of the galley.

Desmond kicked the door open. Moonlight poured through a porthole illuminating a surprisingly neat room. They fell against a bookcase and something sharp dug into her leg.

"Wait." He pulled back and reached behind her. "The fish."

Penny look down to see a small aquarium wobble by her knees. "Sorry."

Desmond pushed it back into place, gave it a little pat. "A Christmas gift," he explained, then grinned and pulled her over to the bed.

x x x


	8. A Rope Stretched Over the Past

x x x

Not caring who saw him, Sawyer walked in through the front door. He had never been in Ben's house before and the first thing he noticed was the smell, fresh and clean, but artificial like it was spritzed often with something called Spring Rain or Hawaiian Breeze. It was the biggest, the only one to have wall to wall carpet in the living room and one of three that had their own kitchen. Apparently it paid to be King of the Castle.

How the hell had Ben hung onto all this after Locke took over? More importantly, why hadn't he thought to rifle through it before now?

Sawyer wandered through the rooms. In the living room he studied the photos for familiar faces. Most of them were of Alex in various stages of growth, surprisingly, Rousseau hadn't claimed these too. There was a small TV/VCR unplugged on the floor in the master bedroom beside a stack of unlabelled videos. They either had to be Ben's porn stash or old surveillance tapes, difficult to tell since he probably got off on both. A smaller room was empty except for gauzy yellow curtains on the windows. The kitchen cupboards were bare and there was hardly anything in the fridge. At least Ben wasn't hoarding the good stuff and no one's head was in the vegetable crisper.

He saved the office for last. The filing cabinet was locked but he didn't expect to find anything significant. If Ben wanted to hide something there were less obvious places. His knife made quick work of the flimsy latch, revealing rows of files. Sawyer flipped through each one, and once checked, discarded them onto the floor. He was right, there was nothing here, just ten year old invoices from medical supply companies, clothing catalogues, a run of _National Geographic_ from the 1980s and someone named Annie's school project on birds of prey.

He was about to investigate the desk drawers when he heard a clang. He reached for his knife as the closet door swung open and Juliet appeared.

"What're you doing? Playing hide and seek?"

She smoothed her hair and tried to look nonchalant but failed. "You're it."

Sawyer slipped the knife back in his pocket. He peeked inside to see bare hangers and a folded wheelchair. "How'd you know I wasn't Ben?"

"He wouldn't need to look so hard and he's not messy," she said, studying the disarray on the floor. "There's nothing here."

"Of course, that's why you're here, what, watering his closet plants?"

"What are you looking for?"

Sawyer leaned against the desk and folded him arms. "You first, darlin'."

"Would you believe me if I said I lost an earring?"

"Maybe if you said your panties."

Sawyer turned his back to her and opened a drawer to find it full of paint brushes and an empty sketch pad. The other drawers were similarly useless, office supplies and more old magazines.

"I told you."

"I guess I'll have to stop by your house next."

"Be my guest."

"Well then, let's go."

She stooped to tidy the files. "You're going to leave it like this?"

"Oh, he'll already know I was here when he goes to watch his favourite episodes of _Everyone Loves Raymond_," Sawyer said, returning to the bedroom. He scooped up the TV and found a bag for the tapes.

They crossed back through the living room. Juliet looked out the window and saw no one. "After you," she said, opening the front door. Sawyer tucked the TV and bag under one arm and stepped out onto the porch. She shut the door behind them.

"Was that secret mission back there all yours or did Sayid ask you to break in?" he asked as they walked passed the gazebo. She cocked her head in response and looked at him blankly. "Oh sorry, are you helping Sayid find an earring every night? I'm curious to see if the midnight traipses through my backyard will stop now that Miss Havisham's announced Jack's safe and sound."

Juliet cleared her throat and replied with her own question. "Have you talked to her?"

"I don't trust her. Who in their right mind would go through all this trouble to find anyone?"

"Don't you believe in true love?"

He snorted. "What do we really know about Desmond? We're taking him at his word that his boat don't go anywhere. And these flashes, the so called visions he has…"

They passed a pair of Others returning from the farm pulling a cart full of corn. They looked curiously at Sawyer and the TV so he glared back. Juliet stopped and regarded him. "Is that what you were looking for? A file on Desmond?"

"Do you have one?"

"I didn't even know he existed until Jack took me to your camp."

"And that proves what, exactly? Either he was too important for you to know about or no one really knows who he is."

"You think Desmond's just pretending to be on your side, after all this time?"

"All I'm sayin' is I have no reason to trust his girl."

"Fair enough."

They started walking again. Up ahead he could see Jin mowing the grass in the common garden. Sun came out of their house holding the baby and brought him something to drink. The image was so surreal it caught him off guard. They had gone from having their asses handed to them by the island to cultivating it into a suburban haven. If only he thought this was some sort of victory, or even a pardon, he might have been able to appreciate the peace.

But this was still a cage and some days he felt like he was the only one not blind to the bars. Hell, he didn't know if this acknowledgement made him more or less resigned than everyone else to the fact that they were still trapped.

Except now, two days ago, fresh hope dangled in front of them once again, no less sketchy than a raft, a hatch or a satellite phone, but hope all the same. To believe meant there was a way out and a road back. But where do you go after that? And was the cage out there just bigger than the one here?

"So did you walk me home or are you really going to ransack my house now? Cause if you are I'd like to take a rain check."

Sawyer looked up to see they were in front of Juliet's porch. The smell of freshly cut grass was overwhelming. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Jin hold Ki high above his head, as if the baby was best admired against the stark blueness of the cloudless sky, as if threatening the gods to dare take this away from him.

When he didn't answer or move, Juliet sighed, and spoke again. "Sawyer, go talk to Penny. Stop procrastinating by looking for answers everywhere else. Ask her about…"

"About what?" he snapped.

"Ask her about Kate."

x x x

Heads whipped toward Jack as his cell phone's ring disturbed the silence of the resource centre. It must have been ringing for a while and he didn't notice because by the time he answered it had already gone to voicemail. He mouthed "sorry" to the annoyed faces, all interns hunched over their books, except for Dr. Randall, head of cardiology, who was tackling a crossword the same way he tackled a bypass.

As he listened to Kate's message, Jack rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. He had come in to use the computer after his shift and lost track of time. He had meant to be in San Diego an hour ago.

He gathered his printouts and put them into his backpack. The nurses teased him about the bag, said it made him look like a schoolboy but he didn't feel comfortable carrying a briefcase or satchel, never had. This was the one Kate had taken with her from island and despite its broken zippers and tear in one of the pockets he liked the way it looked, how it rested heavy on his shoulders. If he checked, he bet there would still be sand stuck in the seams.

Jack nodded to Randall as he left but the man was too engrossed in his puzzle to notice. Outside, he dialled Kate's number on the way to his office.

"Kate."

"Hey."

"Sorry, I missed your call."

"I thought you'd be home by now."

"I got caught up. I just need to change and I'll be on my way."

"How was your day?"

"Mrs. Widmore called off the search. "

"I know. Robert phoned earlier."

"What did he say?"

"That her mother is devastated. She's convinced it was suicide, blames herself."

He recalled how lonely Penny has sounded the last time they spoke. "Do you think that's a possibility?"

"No. She was strong, she wouldn't do that."

"It's just…"

"I know," she agreed.

Jack had been so sure Penny was their best chance in finding the island. He and Kate had arrived in Fiji on New Year's Eve, unaware anything was amiss. When Penny didn't meet them at the hotel as planned, the manager admitted he hadn't seen Ms. Widmore in days, had assumed she had gone somewhere else for the holidays. They called the marina and learned the_ Redux_ had departed on Christmas morning. The police found the boat, missing its dinghy, two days later, almost fifty miles from the last location in the log. There was no sign of Penny and hadn't been any for three months. She had vanished, one more person who had slipped away like they never existed.

Kate had packed up all Penny's research to take home with them. For safe keeping, she had said, but neither had felt optimistic, even then. On the plane home he had re-read her aunt's diary and noticed scrawled in the back, in Penny's handwriting, the words "Trust Jacob" over and over again. He remembers Richard calling for a Jacob, asking him for forgiveness, as he lay dying from the sickness in Jack's arms.

"The letter from Father Ikalanga came today." It took Jack a moment to realize Kate was still talking.

"Anything useful?" he asked, dodging a stretcher.

"They confirmed that a Father Tunde worked for a Red Cross child soldier rehabilitation program in Abuja but the photo in their newsletter is not Eko, nor did the church have any record of a priest by the name of Oduduwa Ulu in Nigeria or Australia."

"How many is that now? Twelve?"

"Twelve out of the eighty we've checked."

"That has to be above average. Fifteen percent of the passengers had tickets under assumed names, including you, Libby and now Eko."

"I was under my real name."

"Right." There was an awkward pause. "Sorry."

"Even given the circumstances, I don't think it's extraordinary. Didn't you ever want to be someone else?"

He thought about her question as he turned a corner and headed toward the elevators. Instinctively he would say no or try to be funny and say how he always wanted to be a cowboy, but today the question dug deeper than it should, deeper than she meant it to. Right now, if offered, he would be tempted to switch places with anyone else in this hospital, even a patient. If they had a problem, more often than not modern medicine could fix it. If he had a patient telling him he heard voices at night, he would prescribe him something to make them go away. He would like to be back in that world.

"Jack? Are you there?"

"I'm about to get into an elevator. I'll call you from the road." He hung up before he realized he hadn't even said good bye.

As he rode the elevator down, he pondered the new information from Kate. So Mr. Eko wasn't who he said he was. This came as a surprise to Jack because the man had seemed so genuine, so solid. The passengers' multiple identities made it hard to know who they should be looking for, who they were or who they said they were? Was that the same thing?

The false names were one problem, the coincidences were equally bothersome. In the course of their research they had tripped over a startling number of connections between the passengers, like the two men on the plane who had shared the same ex-wife or Hurley owning the company where Locke had been employed. Jack now expected them, looked for them. Another one had popped up yesterday.

After work he had driven to Malibu to see the dance studio where Shannon worked. He didn't know why he had bothered, she hadn't worked there in years and he already had a pretty thick file on her and Boone. It wasn't until he walked in through the doors that he recognized it as the place Sarah had taken him before their wedding. He remembers how angry she was when he walked out ten minutes into their first ballroom dance lesson, barely holding the laugher in until he got to the parking lot.

Jack could have dismissed this connection, after all at least a third of the passengers lived in the Los Angeles area, but there was more. One wall in the studio's hallway had framed photos mounted from past recitals. Immediately he picked out the one of Shannon. She was smiling at something off camera, surrounded by a group of little girls dressed like bees. Two stocky girls holding hands were identified as Megan and Nora Artz. He double checked Artz's obituary when he got home and sure enough they were listed as his children.

Small world.

That's what Sawyer had said to him, the morning he related the story about Christian. The guys at Princeton told him the same thing, that social scientists had proven most people could be connected worldwide through five or six other people. Hypothetically, Jack agreed this was probably true of random people but not out of a sample of two hundred and forty-nine, most of them strangers before the crash, who could now be connected by three or fewer degrees of separation.

He got off on the fifth floor and headed to the locker room to shower and change.

"Dr. Shephard?" A nurse called out as he passed her station. "I didn't know you were still here."

"Trish."

"Can you do an emergency appendectomy?" She rushed over to him with a chart. "The patient is already prepped but Dr. Dhillon had to step out to work on the bus crash victims."

"They don't need any help with that?"

"No, it's covered." She read out from the chart as they walked briskly to the OR. "Five year old girl brought in at seven o'clock by her grandparents: acute stomach pain, vomiting, and a mild fever. The ultrasound showed a perforated appendix. Dr. Dhillon planned a laparoscopy."

"Did we get consent from the parents?"

Trish consulted the chart again. "The grandparents are her guardians."

Outside the OR Jack examined scans. The tiny appendix bulged and twisted like a snake digesting a rat. This had been caught just in time, the little girl must have been feeling sick for a while. He changed into fresh scrubs and started to wash his hands and arms. A young intern he recognized from the resource centre stood frozen, already gowned, on the other side of the sink.

"Is this your first appendectomy?" he asked.

"It's my first operation," she said, her voice sounded small behind her mask.

"You'll do fine. It's a good one to start with." An appendectomy had been his first operation too, under supervision of his father, who had volunteered for the easy procedure just so he could guide Jack through it.

They entered the OR and greeted the nurse and anaesthesiologist. The little girl lay draped on the table, already out. Jack could see tiny gold ringlets peaking out from under her surgical cap.

"I'll makes the incisions and enter the scope. You tell me what you see on the monitor." The intern nodded. "Let's began."

He hadn't performed this procedure in years but his hands moved swiftly, ritually. Everything in front of him disappeared, even the girl, all he saw in front of him was the abdomen. He inspected the other organs for abnormalities and saw none. Jack then separated the inflamed tissue and removed the appendix. It popped off with a satisfying snip. She was fixed.

"Do you think you can close?" Jack asked the intern.

"Yes." They switched places and he was pleased to see her hands displayed none of the shakiness found in her voice.

"Good work," he said as they were done and the nurse wheeled the child out to recovery.

"Thanks," she said.

"Why don't you go tell the grandparents that…," Jack consulted the chart, "that Clementine will be just fine." The intern strutted off, pleased to deliver good news.

When he finished the post-op notes, Jack brought the chart back to Trish. He leaned over the desk. "Can you call the Langs and the Fischers in the morning, tell them I can move up their consultations from next week to tomorrow afternoon or even Friday, if they want?"

"The multilevel fusions?" she sounded surprised.

"Yes."

"You'll be in tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

"Good night, Trish."

"Good night, Dr. Shephard."

Jack headed to the locker room, backpack strung over one shoulder. He stripped down and crumpled the scrubs into a ball, tossed them into the laundry cart like a basketball. He stepped into a shower but before he turned on the water, he just stood there, figuring out what was different, and then he realized. He smiled; he had fixed the little girl.

x x x

Kate hung up the phone and pulled the blankets to her chin. Her nose was still cold but she didn't feel like getting out of bed to close the window. It was the second time this month Jack had stayed over an extra day or two in Los Angeles. They were short staffed, he explained. She understood but hadn't expected him to work tomorrow or rather today, she noted, squinting at the clock. It was passed midnight. It was March 21.

The first day of spring marked the one year anniversary of their return. They had now been home twice as long as they had been on the island. It didn't feel that long, not long enough to have loved and lost a daughter. Not long enough for it all to begin to feel like a dream.

It was all seeping away, like blood circling a drain.

The island.

Ellen.

Penny.

Even Jack.

What would it feel like a year from now when they were no closer to getting back?

x x x

Authors note: Thanks for reading. The end is near so I feel safe calling this 8/10. The title is based on a quote by Sean Stewart from his book _Perfect Circle. _


	9. Every Man is a Piece of the Continent

x x x

Kate closed the front door softly, which served to only draw out the squeak rather than avoid it. She stood in the dark hallway listening, shadows from the trees outside danced across her face. A gust of wind pelted her windows with the rain that had collected in the leaves. It had poured all the way back from Los Angeles, all different types of rain: big fat drops spotted the windshield intermittently but enough that she couldn't turn off the wipers, then at one point water appeared to rise up from the ground as much as down from the sky, and then finally, as she drove into San Diego, a misty drizzle had surrounded the car like a bubble. The storm helped her focus on the road, stopped her mind from wandering back to the scene at the airport.

She set her bag on the floor and in the darkness found her way to the kitchen. She drank a glass of water, then crept down the hallway.

A light went on behind her. "Katie."

"Hey, dad. Sorry to wake you." She poked her head into the spare room. It still surprised her to see it set up like a bedroom. Even though Sam had been here for almost four months it seemed like only yesterday the room had been cluttered with boxes and files. At least then, the maps and spread sheets had covered the pale green walls, painted to match the bedding for the crib that was never set up.

Sam struggled to sit. He held onto her shoulder as Kate leaned behind him to rearrange his pillows. "Did you go somewhere?"

"Yes."

"I won't tell your mother you were sneaking out."

Kate sighed, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Remember? Mom's dead."

"Oh…yes." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, one side of his face tensed while the other side remained hard, frozen. When he opened them, his gaze was clearer. "Where'd you go?"

"A friend called me. Do you remember Jack?"

"Jack?

"The doctor."

"He had nice hands, strong hands."

"That's right," she said, recalling how Jack's hands had shaken tonight.

"Did you have a nice visit?"

"No, not really. He's not well."

"Like me."

"No, not like you. It's different."

"Jack…" Sam suddenly gripped her arm, he always did this when he was trying to remember something, as if he could transfer Kate's memory to his own by holding onto her. "There was a message I had to give you."

Kate pursed her lips, she didn't want to get into this now. Sometimes Sam would tell her he was sorry, say he was just a messenger. Then his face would go blank, his grip slack and he would ask her what they were talking about.

"It's okay." She put her hand over his. It didn't matter anymore.

"The phone kept ringing. Are you in trouble again?"

"Who was it?"

"The police."

Her stomach lurched. "The police?"

"I think they wanted to speak to your Aunt. I told them she was in Missouri."

"Aunt Lucille?"

"They said they would call back in the morning." He patted her arm, then pushed the pillows down and lay back. "They'll call back."

Kate stood up, not sure if the police had really called or if Sam was remembering a conversation from another time. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Thank you."

She turned off the light. "Good night, dad."

"Sweet dreams, Katie."

In her bedroom, she got undressed and crawled under the covers. She was tired but felt too alert to sleep. If she hadn't already left Sam once tonight she would have driven to the state park and gone for a hike, watched the sunrise from a peak and tried to silence the words that still rung in her ears: "We have to go back, Kate."

But it wasn't really the words. They had been Jack's mantra for two years now. It was the desperation that had loomed in his voice, a dangerous tone that suggested he was not just barely hanging on but had in fact already plummeted. She wasn't sure if tonight's meeting had been an invitation to join him or an admonishment that she had not yet succumbed with him.

If she had predicted, before, which one of them would have broke first, she would have picked herself. She had come very close to it after losing Ellen, probably would have if Jack had not been there. But when he himself stumbled, after making the discovery about Claire, Jack pushed her away, couldn't or wouldn't find relief at having someone by his side.

By this time he had already pulled away, retreated into his work. A year ago he went back to the hospital full time, taught a summer course at UCLA, often volunteered at a free clinic, basically filled as many hours as he could helping and healing. He had left the research to Kate and stopped asking what she had found. Eventually his schedule made it impossible to come to San Diego often, so she began to go to him.

The work must have made him feel safe but it didn't appear to make him anymore at rest. She had waited for him one night, at the hospital, after his rounds. One of his patients had coded and she recognized the frenzied determination and fear in Jack's eyes, identical to the night he tried to save Boone. He worked on the patient, a man in his seventies, for forty minutes but couldn't revive him. She knew if it had been an option, Jack would have poured his blood into this man to save him. On the way back to his condo, he didn't speak, but she watched his lips move silently. Kate imagined he was reliving everything he had done, checking for mistakes, brooding over any missed opportunities from diagnosis to surgery. She knew he had still been thinking about it later that night, saw his eyes flash with doubt, as he stroked her hair and clutched her hip.

He might have been able to lose himself in his work forever, trade one obsession for another, but then five months ago he had returned from a visit with his mother, a look of pure terror pasted on his face. He wouldn't tell her at first what was wrong, just asked her to come with him. Jack had driven them to the airport, parked outside a bunker on Aviation Boulevard. They sat there for a moment watching jets scream down a runway, almost one every minute. Then he had got out of the car and sat hunched over on the hood. When Kate joined him she could see he was crying and holding a photo. He handed it to her. It was of a young girl in braids holding a large white rabbit. Her eyes sparkled and she was smiling broadly, pressing one cheek against the soft fur. Kate turned it over. On the back was written, "Claire, 10, Fairfield Farm School Trip, 1992."

Now that she knew who it was, Kate was surprised she didn't recognize Claire immediately. "Where did you get this?"

"My father…it was in one of his books."

"How?"

"She's my sister, Kate, my sister." A plane roared over them, punctuating his revelation.

"Oh, Jack."

"I knew about the affairs. My mother even left him once."

"Did she know about Claire?"

"She knew there was a woman in Australia, because of the long distance bills, but she claims not to have known there was a child." Kate had rubbed his back, felt the tremors as he shook with silent sobs. "I can't even remember when I last saw her."

"I saw her before I left," she had lied, not able to recall when she last saw Claire either. Kate knew she had made it safety to the barracks, had moved into the house next to her and Sawyer. "She was sitting on the grass playing with Aaron."

"He can't grow up there."

"He's a tough little kid and Claire may look frail but she was the strongest of us all."

"That was a year and a half ago, Kate. Who knows if any of them are still alive?" Until then neither of them had dared express this fear out loud. "And the thing is," Jack continued, "it shouldn't matter more now that I know she's my sister. I left her, I left them all behind."

"If we had told the truth, from the beginning, do you think anyone could have found the island? If we can't and Penny couldn't…I don't think it's possible."

"We'll never know." Jack took the photo back and put in his pocket. He wiped his eyes, stared straight ahead at the runway. "We were meant to crash on that island."

"Now you're sounding like Locke."

"And we were never supposed to leave."

"Jack," she took his hand. "You don't know that..."

"And it wasn't supposed to happen this way," he cut her off, pushed her hand away, "you and me."

"You and me? How was it supposed to be?"

"I don't know, but not like this."

She knew he not only meant the ghosts that hovered between them, Sawyer, Ellen and so many other things that remained unspoken, but that he believed they were undeserving of any comfort, any closure.

"It's not going to help anyone to think in terms of 'what if'."

"But that's all we have." Jack let out a hollow laugh. "This whole thing is a game of what if? What's if my father had taken the fellowship in London, not Sydney? What if we didn't press the button? What if you hadn't come back for me?"

"If you believe that, then it's out of our hands."

"No, no, no, it's all about choice, Kate. It punishes us for the wrong ones and now that we're back here, there are no second chances."

"Who is?"

"The island."

Kate slipped down off the hood, and stood in front of him. "You're not making any sense."

"I'm going to Sydney. I'm going to find her mother and apologize."

"Jack, you didn't do anything wrong, what happened wasn't our fault."

"I've already booked my ticket. I leave tonight."

"I would have gone with you."

"I need to do this alone."

So she had driven him to the terminal where he had given her a kiss on the lips that was meant for the cheek. She watched him disappear into the crowd of travelers. It was the last time she had seen him sober, though in hindsight she couldn't entirely be sure he hadn't been drinking or on something that night too. He had returned a week later, a bigger mess than when he had left, having found no relief confessing to a comatose woman. He tensed every time Kate touched him, snapped at her, until he finally told her to go home. She went, unable to watch him crumble like this, feeling her presence just made it worse for him.

In the last six months she had seen him only a handful of times. One day he had shown up in a taxi, all the way from Los Angeles, wild eyes and reeking of scotch, but still at least coherent enough to know he shouldn't be driving. He asked for their research and she had turned it all over to him. By then she was caring for Sam and just wanted the boxes gone from the house. Two months ago, he had called, sounded excited, asked her to meet him at Aviation Boulevard but when she got there he wasn't alone. Michael stood beside Jack and Kate wouldn't even get out of the car. She couldn't do what Jack did, forgive him, so she had turned the car around and driven home.

Tonight had been just as bad. When she had seen Jack on the news two nights ago, she had hoped he was doing better, that he had once again found solace in saving people, but when she saw him in person, she knew, if anything, he was worse. She wasn't sure if it was the culmination of months of alcohol and pills or if Michael's death had truly pushed him over the edge.

Yet there had been just enough of the old Jack in his eyes to break her heart when he tried to explain himself, "Because I wanted to crash, Kate. I don't care about anybody else on board. Every little bump we hit or turbulence, I mean I, I actually close my eyes and I pray that I can get back."

This was the image that stuck with her as she drifted off to sleep. Jack, who had once been her rock, everyone's rock, shattered.

x x x

She hadn't heard the doorbell but the knocking woke her. Sam stood in his pajamas rapping on her bedroom door. "The police are here."

Her first thought was of Jack, that he had an accident on his way home or worse, done something to himself. She quickly got out of bed, put on a robe and went to the front door. A female police officer stood on her front steps.

"Ms. Austen?"

"Yes."

"Sorry to wake you. You're nephew, Peter, was arrested last night for shoplifting."

"My nephew?" Kate was about to shake her head when she caught a glimpse of the passenger in the backseat of the police car.

Walt.

He stared at her, pleading with her to accept him. "Yes, my nephew. What did he steal?"

"He ordered a Happy Meal and then left without paying. We kept him at the station last night when we couldn't reach you. He said he was visiting you?"

"Yes."

"You didn't worry where he was last night?"

"My father," Sam lurked in the background, testifying to what she was going to say, "was watching him but he gets confused. I didn't know he was missing."

"I see," the officer said dryly, implying she didn't really care, just needed to write something on her forms and get Walt off her hands.

"Sign here. A social worker will call soon." She handed Kate a clipboard with several forms while she went to retrieve Walt. He exited the vehicle, all arms and legs, little of the child left in his face, though she didn't even think he was a teenager yet. The officer escorted him over to Kate where she performed a memorized lecture on respect. They waited until the police car pulled out of the driveway to address each other.

"Walt."

"Kate."

"This is a surprise."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I'm sorry about your father."

"You don't have to lie."

Kate hugged herself. He sounded far older than he looked. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Come in."

She showed Walt to the kitchen, gave him a glass of milk. He dove into a bowl of fruit while she went to get dressed. When she returned, he and Sam were sitting at the kitchen table studying each other.

"Walt, this is my dad, Sam. Dad, this is Walt, a friend."

"Is Jack here?" asked Walt.

"No."

"Oh."

"Do you like pancakes?"

He brightened. "Yeah!"

"Okay." Kate got out some bowls, looked in the cupboards, hoping she had the necessary ingredients. "I'll make you your 'Aunt Kate's' special pancakes."

"Walt?" Sam asked. "Do I know you?"

"Uh, no."

"Walt? That sounds familiar." Sam stroked the frozen side of his face.

"He had an accident in Afghanistan," Kate explained to Walt. "His truck was hit by a roadside bomb. He had a stroke while they were doing surgery to fix his shoulder."

Walt looked uncomfortable. "Oh."

"They're looking for you, Walt," Sam said as he stirred his coffee. "He's the special one."

Walt stood up so fast that his chair fell over. "I have to go."

"No wait! Dad, what are you talking about?"

Sam's face had fallen again into blankness. "What?"

Kate knelt beside him. "Do you know Walt? Is he the passenger that could help us?"

"Are the pancakes ready?" Sam asked.

Walt had left the kitchen and was out the front door in a flash. Kate left Sam and followed him. She ran down the driveway, grabbed a hold of his sweatshirt. "Walt!"

He hesitated. "They're looking for me. I think they killed my dad. We've been running, all this time, but they found him."

"Who?"

"The people who work on the island or who used to."

"The Dharma Initiative?"

"I don't know. The ones who were there first."

"Do you know why they let you go, the Others?" she asked, then clarified herself. "I don't mean what your dad did, why they exchanged you for us?"

"Jacob told them to let me go. He didn't like me, didn't want me on his island."

"Jacob?"

"The man who lives at the centre. He kinda of controls things...with his brain," Walt added taping his head, watching Kate closely for her reaction and bracing for her skepticism.

"With his brain?"

"It's true! He was there way before us, they were experimenting with people like him and me. Then they escaped, rebelled. Ever since then he's been in charge of what does and doesn't happen on the island."

Kate absorbed this information and found she had nothing to say. It was incredible but so was everything else about this experience. Like the fact that it was a vision of the boy in front of her, while she was sick, that told her she needed to leave in order to get better, urged her to get Jack and go.

"Why don't you come back inside? We can talk some more. Sam's not going to tell anyone you're here. He probably won't even remember you when we go back in. We'll call you Peter."

Walt scanned the road, looking doubtful. "They could already be watching."

"If so they would have shown themselves by now, with us out in the open like this. At least come in and have breakfast." Kate held out her hand. "I won't let anything happen to you."

He didn't take her hand but finally he said, "Okay."

"Okay," she smiled.

"Kate?" he said just before they went back into the house. "I'm sorry about your little girl. My dad told me what happened."

"Thanks."

"I had an imaginary friend once, named Ellen, when I lived in Rome. I didn't like her very much because she was a girl and kind of bossy."

"You had an imaginary friend who you didn't like?"

He shrugged as if this was inconsequential. "We both liked horses."

She swallowed, and then said, "I had a horse once."

"Hey, do you think Vincent will remember me?" Walt's eyes gleamed with the innocence she once remembered.

"I'm sure he does," she said automatically.

"Yeah, I think so too. It's not just elephants who never forget. I can't wait to see him again."

"What do you mean?"

"Going back. Isn't that what you and Jack are trying to do? I can help you."

x x x

Author's Notes: Once again I am poaching another glorious author's words for my title. This one is from John Donne's mediations "No man is an island".

This is the last part before the final chapter. Will I reveal myself to be a sucker for happy or sad endings? Is this story leading to Kate/Sawyer, Jack/Kate or will the final chapter burst force with unexpected and unrequited Jack/Sawyer? Does Vincent remember Walt? What ever happened to Desmond's fish? Will I ever let Sun speak? All these questions and more to be answered shortly. Thanks for following this far.


	10. Ebb and Flow

x x x

The stars were familiar.

Jack lay across the bench on the top deck of the _Redux_ and traced with his index finger the outlines of Gemini, Taurus and Orion, just as Claire had once done, about a week after the plane crash. She had woken in the middle of the night with pains and he had gone to examine her in the moonlight. As she lay on a blanket in the sand, Claire had named the visible constellations and gestured to them with her free hand, while Charlie held the other. Jack had been too focused, one ear and hand pressed against her stomach, to pay attention to what she was saying. Even with the crashing of the waves and Claire's rambling, he thought he could make out the baby's heartbeat. In hindsight, it had most likely been hers or even his own which had been pounding with fear that she was going to deliver or possibly miscarry before they were rescued.

"It probably heartburn," he had guessed. She had smiled, and then repeated her astronomy lesson to him.

Jack thought it was a good sign that he could see these constellations again. He, Kate and Walt had been on the _Redux_ for six days, sailing southeast of Fiji. This was a course Penny had repeatedly searched with no luck, but perhaps there was something to Walt's proclamations that he knew where to go or might be able to see what others could not.

Three weeks ago Jack had awoken to find Kate's ultimatum on his voicemail, her voice stern but animated. "I'm coming over with Walt on Monday. That gives you three days to clean yourself up."

He had listened to her message over and over, the voice so aching familiar, that it seared his heart. As he listened, he had wandered around his condo aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do, when it occurred to him the first thing would be to get rid of the bottle in his hand. So he had dumped the remaining scotch, gathered the rest of the pills and dropped them one by one down the drain. Next, he had taken the longest shower of his life, so numb that he hardly noticed when the water turned from hot to warm to freezing cold, then crawled into bed and slept until Saturday night. He had got up, drank a pot of coffee and drove to all night grocery store, then came home and made eggs, bacon and toast, the first real meal he had eaten in weeks. He had promptly thrown it up and went back to bed but when he awoke on Monday morning, Jack had felt slightly more alert. By the time Kate and Walt arrived he had even managed to take the garbage out and wash a few dishes.

"You look…," Kate had said in the doorway, one arm resting around Walt's shoulders as she studied Jack from top to bottom, lingering on his eyes.

"Better?" he had asked, but when he heard his voice crack on that one word he knew that assessment was too much to ask for yet. Just seeing her standing before him made his skin itch and his hand slipped into his pocket, instinctively searching for a packet of Oxycodone.

"More like yourself," she allowed, then stepped passed him, ushering Walt into the condo.

Over the next two weeks, as they made the preparations to leave for Fiji, Jack had felt the ground settling under his feet again. They hired Robert to meet them with the _Redux_ and arranged for passports under different names, not only for Walt but all them. Michael's apparent murder had made them all take extra precautions. As they did this, Walt explained he was sure he could get them back, he could see the island so clearly in his mind, even felt he had been back there in his dreams. Walt thought it had to be possible to go back, otherwise Jacob wouldn't have warned him repeatedly not to return.

Jack was optimistic that Walt had been their missing beacon all along, their last chance to put things right. And if not, then he wasn't sure he could go on.

At the same time, it was equally disturbing to contemplate actually finding the island, to discover what had transpired over the last two years. If he had fallen apart in the relative safety of home, and if they found anyone alive, would he recognize them as the people he once knew?

These were his thoughts as he looked up at the sky, watched the stars bob up and down as the _Redux_ rose to meet every wave. There was a strong wind tonight and the sails held taunt with only an occasional flutter. It was a clear night so he was surprised when it started to rain lightly. He sat up and wiped the drops from his face only to discover it wasn't rain at all.

Just as he examined the sooty substance between his fingers he heard Kate cry out, "Jack!"

He rushed down the ladder to the main deck where Kate had taken over the watch. She pointed to a glowing circle in the distance illuminating a dark silhouette. Patches of orange, purple, yellow and red lit a small window of darkness, as if part of the sun decided to hold an early, private sunrise.

"What is that?" she asked, face flushed with excitement. "Could that be it?"

"I don't know," he replied and then noticed flecks of ash in her hair and realization sunk in. He picked a piece out and showed it to her.

Her expression turned from joy to dread. "I'm going to wake Robert."

Jack stood transfixed. He had been thirteen when Mount Saint Helens had erupted in Washington. He and his mother had watched the disaster unfold on television and Jack had been riveted by the huge column of ash that grew to a height of twelve miles, spewing volcanic debris across eleven different states. He remembers the pride he had felt when his father volunteered to join a team travelling to Portland to care for the wounded, a project that was cancelled when it was revealed there were few wounded, most of the affected population had been evacuated and those who had remained in the blast zone had been asphyxiated, burned or buried.

Robert appeared beside Jack, clad in a t-shirt and boxers, and scanned the horizon. "You never told me your goddamn island had a volcano. It makes one hell of a signal fire," he said, then went back below deck.

Jack grasped the rail as the _Redux_ surged forward at the start of the engine. Kate returned and pressed her hand against the small of his back and together they watched the blaze grow bigger and more distinct as they came closer. After a few minutes, they could see the colourful glow hovered like a halo over the highest point of a mountainous body of land, bursts of fire shot up into the sky and a large smoky cloud spread out above, masking the stars.

A sleepy Walt joined them, and stood for moment not seeing anything until his eyes adjusted to the dark. "Whoa, what is that?"

Kate told Walt, "Go put a life jacket on."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Walt watched for a few more moments, then tore himself away and returned in a flash with his life jacket and camera.

"I don't remember it being so big," he said, snapping photos, comparing the image before him with the picture on the digital screen, as if ensuring it was real.

"I just got off with Honolulu," Robert reported, coming back on deck. "They've recorded considerable seismic action across this stretch of the Pacific over the last two days."

"Two days ago?" Jack asked, panic rising in his voice. This couldn't happen, not after everything. They couldn't be two days too late.

"Don't worry. The eruption is new, within the last few hours, I would say."

"Did you call the coast guard?" Kate asked.

Robert nodded. "Tonga, Fiji and New Zealand. The Kiwis are furthest but the best equipped. I reckon they'll get here first." He took the wheel and adjusted the course slightly.

Kate, Jack and Walt stood in a line watching the island's features come into view. Eventually they could make out waves crashing against sheer cliffs, then the coast line parted, revealing what they had thought was one island, was actually two. As they drew nearer to the one they had called home, the ash became more prominent, and the smell of fire heavier. Jack held the wheel as Robert and Kate took down the sails and Walt was assigned the task of holding the fire extinguisher at ready in case anything caught fire.

"There's something up ahead," Kate said rushing to the rail. "There, in the water!"

"Where?"

"It's gone…No, there it is again!"

Robert turned on the spotlight, swivelled it across the open water between the two islands, and the mast of another sail boat could be seen, bobbing in the waves.

"Head toward the boat or the island?" he asked.

"The boat," Kate and Jack said in unison.

"Could be Hume's," Robert suggested, turning the_ Redux_ toward the smaller craft.

They surged forward, the three of them peering over the rail, straining to catch a solid look at the boat which seemed to fall behind a wave every time they rode on top of one.

"Come on, come on…," Kate recited.

All of sudden they were almost on top of it and Robert had to cut the engine and steer sharply to avoiding hitting the _Elizabeth_. Jack grabbed Walt as he stumbled backward. When he turned back to the other boat, he saw a shotgun raised at them.

"Desmond?" Jack called, shielding his eyes.

"Jack?" A voice, not Desmond's, responded, laced with confusion. The gun was lowered, revealing a stunned figure dressed in ragged clothes, face smudged with ash. "Kate? Walt!"

"Jin!" Kate cried, clutching Jack's arm. "Oh my god, it's Jin."

Everyone spoke at once, a rush of exclamations, greetings and questions whose details were lost in the hail of voices. At that moment it only mattered that they had found each other.

"The others? Are the others alright?" Jack finally managed to get across clearly.

"The Others?" Jin repeated, frowning. "We're no longer with the Others."

"Our people? Claire, Sayid, Sawyer – are they okay?"

"The volcano…," Jin said something else but the words were dissolved in the wind, "…Sayid….. Hurry."

Kate cupped her hands and yelled, "What?" but her question was overshadowed by a large boom that echoed from the centre of the island. A volley of sparks spewed from the volcano and sprinkled over the tree cover.

Jin pointed to their island and then the one behind. "We're taking everyone there."

"We'll follow you."

Jin nodded, and went to adjust the sails, then yelled over. "I have a son!"

Kate shook her head. "Sun?"

"Sun and I," he tapped his chest and then held out his hand flat at knee level, "we have a son."

"That's great," Jack said. A grin broke out on his face. "That's great." He turned to Kate, who looked stricken and at first he thought this was do to Jin's last announcement.

"Jack, did you hear him? What did he say about …?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "I didn't hear him either, Kate."

Kate ducked her head and disappeared below deck. Robert slapped Jack on the back and tousled Walt's hair. "I never thought you'd find these folks. Penny would've been proud." He returned to the wheel, and swung it around to follow the _Elizabeth_ through the increasingly choppy water.

It grew darker as the two boats negotiated the rocks around the cliffs. The smoke had blotted out most of the moonlight and ash began to fall regularly like snow, coating everything with a thin layer of grim. After about twenty minutes, Jack squinted at the shoreline and adrenaline surged through him as he recognized the smooth flat rocks of the cove about five miles from their old beach.

Kate reappeared beside him, fiddling with the straps of the large back pack. She had washed her face and pulled her hair back into a pony tail. "I told Walt to stay on the boat, when we get there."

"Good idea."

She sucked in her breath. "Can you believe this is really happening?"

"Kate…" Her brow furrowed and she wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of ash. He cleaned his hand on his jeans and then brushed the soot off her. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Jack…"

"I'm sorry about what I said before, about you and me, how it wasn't supposed to happen this way. I wouldn't want to change what happened, between us, here or at home."

"Me neither."

"Whatever happens, whatever we find… If we can't get back…"

She reached up and dusted the ash from his hair and beard. "We're going to get everyone and go home."

He bent down and gathered her in his arms. She dropped the backpack and returned the embrace, buried her face in his chest. They stood like this, holding each other, scanning the shoreline until the beach came into view.

Three campfires flickered in the sand. A small group of people rushed to the shore as the boats approached.

"I can't go any further," Robert said. "You'll have to take the dinghy from here."

Jack untied it and lowered it into the water. Kate was already halfway down the ladder when it landed. He held it steady as she got in, then passed the rope to Robert and followed her down.

Walt leaned over the side. "I can't see Vincent."

"He's probably already on the other island," Jack said and then dropped into the dingy beside Kate. She pressed the starter button on the motor and steered over to Jin who was paddling his own dingy. Jack threw a rope to him and they towed him behind.

"Jack! Jin's dingy says _Redux_."

"What?"

"It's Penny's. She made it here too."

Jack searched the crowd, waving and jumping up and down but he couldn't make out any faces in the dark. A few ran into the water to greet them. Just as Kate cut the motor, two figures reached the dinghy. Strong arms reached around Jack, almost lifted him out of the boat.

"Dude."

"Hurley."

"Your timing couldn't be better…Well, it could've been but …" Hurley gave up speaking and just hugged him or tried as best he could. Jack noticed he was handcuffed to a reluctant person, clearly mortified to be part of this reunion.

Jack jumped into the water. "Hurley?"

"Oh yeah." Hurley gestured with his cuffed hand to the one armed, one eyed man at his side. "I'm saddled with this hooy morzhovy every time we leave a secure area. Kinda makes me regret asking to spare his worthless life. You hear me, Mikhail?"

"Rodilsya cherez jopu," Mikhail sputtered, then slipped and fell into the water as a wave hit him.

Hurley tugged him up. "Yeah, right back at you."

Rousseau and Bernard rushed into the water to help pull the two dinghies ashore. Jack noticed Kate had already slipped out of the boat and was mingling with the crowd. Jin draped one arm around Jack and they wadded through the water to the beach where Rose immediately pulled him into her arms, whispered soothing words and rubbed his back as if he was the one who needed to be rescued.

"They'll be time for a reunion later," Danielle said. "We need to get everyone over to the other side."

Jack pulled away from Rose and scanned the rest of the faces. The were fewer people than he expected, about a dozen, mainly familiar faces of passengers, and a few Others. He saw Kate was clinging to a woman who he initially thought was Juliet, but then he recognized it was Penny.

"Claire, where is she?"

"She's fine, she's with Aaron, already over there. We took the children and injured over first," Jin explained.

"I'm not leaving without Desmond," Penny said, stepping forward. She clasped Jack's hand, smiled, and then said the to rest, "I'll wait here."

"Where is he?" Jack asked.

"He went back for John," she explained, "with Sawyer."

"Well, we'll wait here too. Leave the _Elizabeth. _The_ Redux_ is big enough to get everyone else to the other island."

"Jack, you should go with them." Hurley nodded to Danielle and Jin who were arranging people in the dinghies. "Sayid burned his hands pretty badly. He needs a doctor."

Jack's stomach dropped. "What about Juliet?"

"Yeah, she's not really up to doctoring."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story," Hurley stated wearily and Jack noticed how tired he looked. "About three weeks ago, Ben gave this whole speech about returning to their roots and then he and a bunch of the Others took off into the jungle. Just before the first earthquake, we found them all dead by the temple."

"The sickness?"

"I don't think so. There wasn't a mark on them, kinda like with Eko."

"And Juliet had gone with them?"

"No, no. We think Ben had been poisoning her for a while, with Methanol or something. Just before he left, she got really sick. She's okay now but she can't see."

Jack looked up at the sky. Dawn was breaking around the island, a grey light tinged with pink rose from the ocean to converge with the dark cloud of smoke. He met Kate's eyes, and exchanged a look that spoke of both regret and relief.

Danielle touched his shoulder. "If you're coming with us, we have to go now."

"You're staying here?" he asked Kate and she nodded.

Jack retreated back into the water, let himself be led by Rousseau into the dinghy. As they travelled back to the _Redux_ he watched Kate, Penny, Hurley and Mikhail fad into the dark landscape.

x x x

Boone and Shannon. Libby and Ana-Lucia. Nikki and Paulo.

Kate stood at the cemetery, sweeping the ash off the graves with a stick, revealing tiny pink flowers amongst the grass and sand. Somewhere just north of here Edwards Mars was buried in a clearing beside a rock. She didn't know where Eko's grave was, somewhere near the remnants of the hatch.

Charlie.

He had a marker here, even though his body was never recovered. His guitar was still tied to the cross, two of the broken strings waved in the wind. She was tempted to take it off and bring it home, but that didn't seem right. It wasn't her choice to make.

She gripped the stick tightly, her left leg twitched with nervous energy. Her monosyllabic responses to Hurley and Penny's parade of questions had convinced them to leave her alone and now she really wished they hadn't. Her mind was empty, blank, paused. She wanted to run into the jungle but even if she had known where to look, even if the lava and fire weren't encroaching on them, she would have felt utterly disoriented, like she no longer belonged here. Yet this was the same feeling she had felt once home, had always carried around with her. It was only here, after the crash, amid the death, the fear, the mind games and power struggles, that she had momentarily felt like she belonged.

Kate never doubted one of the island's many gifts had been a putrid sense of irony.

The ground began to quiver. It was the third aftershock since she had arrived but this time it was joined by a furious metallic squeal that seemed to pour from the jungle. If there had been any birds left in the trees, she imagined they would have flown away en-mass, their squawking exodus drowned out by the noise. Kate fell to her knees and covered her ears, saw Hurley and Penny do the same by the campfire. The sound reverberated in her bones, her teeth rattled and she squeezed her eyes shut.

When it stopped, the silence was almost as deafening. A sharp ringing ran through her head as her ears adjusted to quiet. When the ringing faded it was replaced by a new sound, raspy breaths, like a drowning person gasping for air. She opened her eyes, and was shocked to see Sawyer crouched beside her, kneeling as if in prayer, his head practically touching the ground.

Kate's eyes widened and she felt as if her heart stopped. She had kept it closed to this moment for two years, not wanting to let thoughts of him in.

"Sawyer."

He lifted his head, just barely and she wasn't even sure if he saw her before passing out. Kate crawled over to him, and touched him tentatively but he didn't move. She rolled him onto his back, tilted his neck, and held her cheek to his face. He was still breathing.

Desmond burst out of the jungle, with Locke draped over one shoulder. He stumbled through the graveyard and gently placed Locke down beside Sawyer. He rested his arms on his thighs, then dropped on all fours, breathing heavy. All three men were covered in mud and ash and where she could see their clothes, they were singed.

Penny rushed by Kate, as did Hurley, dragging Mikhail behind him. As she cradled Sawyer, she watched Desmond take Penny's hand, rest it on his heart.

"We have to go now," Desmond said when he had caught his breath. "We were just ahead of it."

Kate didn't ask what he meant by 'it', the lava or whatever that horrible sound had been.

Locke raised his upper body, winced and then collapsed again. "Just leave me."

"I will not," he said, wiping his brow and standing up. "Pen, help me."

Hurley unlocked Mikhail, so he could help Kate with Sawyer. Mikhail watched them carry the two men to the shore before walking the opposite way. Hurley called after him but he didn't doing anything when Mikhail failed to respond. Kate stayed with Locke and Sawyer as the others took the dinghy back to the _Elizabeth._ She sat in between them, the water lapped at their feet.

"Kate, please, just leave me behind."

"This was never really our home, John."

"This wasn't my destiny."

Kate never knew what to say to Locke when he was like this. Jack was much better dealing with his whimsy because challenging it was always easier than accepting it. "Are you sure your destiny is to die here?"

Locke craned his neck back to the jungle, "I did everything it wanted…"

"John, you did a good thing. You kept everyone together. Maybe that was your destiny."

He didn't respond, just stared up at the sky. They waited in an awkward silence for Penny to return, then together she and Kate dragged Sawyer and Locke into the dinghy. From the water Kate could better see the damage to the island. Its lushness had been swallowed up in an oozing cloud of smoke and dust. Barely five metres of trees could be seen behind the beach. When they arrived, Desmond and Hurley dropped a rope over the side of the _Elizabeth_ to hoist the two men up to the deck. By the time Kate climbed up to the boat, they had taken Sawyer down into Desmond's cabin.

Kate perched on the edge of the bed. Penny appeared with a pitcher of water, a glass and a cloth then left to go help Desmond with the sails. Kate washed Sawyer's face and arms, constantly checking to see if he was still breathing. Underneath the dirt he looked exactly the same, almost peaceful, which she guessed was somewhat of a change.

She was startled when he came awake with a rattling cough. She pressed the glass of water to his lips. He drank it all, she refilled it and he took some more, regarding her all the while with great seriousness. He finished the second glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Either I'm having déjà vu or there's actually something to Braveheart's visions."

"That explains why no one seemed particularly surprised to see me."

He looked around the room. "Am I in a bunk bed?"

"No."

"Well then, you better tell me we're saved because I'm getting mighty sick of this merry-go-round."

"We contacted the coast guard. They're on their way."

"Course nothing could go wrong with that plan." He swung his legs over the bed so they were sitting side by side. "Is Jack here too?"

"Yes."

"Swell."

"Sawyer…"

"Save it." He held a finger to his lips, tossed his hair back. "One disaster at a time. I wanna get a look at the island." He got up and left her sitting on the bed. She focused on watching the lone blue fish swimming in circles in a bowl on a shelf so she wouldn't have to see him go, hoped the tears would wait until he was gone but then he didn't leave. "You came back for me."

Too late, the tears were falling. She prayed he wouldn't turn around. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? I never meant to leave like that."

Sawyer rested his hands on either side of the doorframe, bowed his head. "Do you have a picture?"

Kate picked up her backpack from the floor and took out an envelope sealed in a plastic bag. She removed the photos, stood and passed them to him. "Here."

Sawyer flipped through them once, quickly. Then he slid down the door frame onto the floor, looked at them all again, savouring each image. "She was so tiny."

"I know."

"She was lucky to get your nose."

"Mine?" Kate came over, sat beside him. "That was definitely yours."

"I know, I was just tryin' to be generous."

"Every so often she would smirk at me. Yeah, just like that, and I could have sworn it was you."

"Babies don't smirk."

Kate sniffed and then wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Oh, I forgot you were the expert."

He put his arm around her, and she leaned into him. "She would've been hell on wheels."

"I know."

x x x

"Remember the time, the bird said my name?"

"It did not."

"Did so."

"And even if it did, that would be your weirdest experience?" Sawyer asked as they sat around a table by the hotel pool in Christchurch. "Stranger than the polar bear? Stranger than seeing your numbers everywhere? Stranger than the island seemingly imploding the minute the Doc strolled back into our lives?"

"I never saw the polar bear," Hurley said. "Jack, did you see the polar bear?"

Jack shook his head. "I did not."

"Claire?" Hurley asked.

"I heard enough about it," she responded from the pool steps, where she was playing with Aaron. "I feel like I saw it."

"Doesn't count." Hurley turned back to Sawyer, "See, I think you're lying about the polar bear."

"Help me out here, Freckles."

"I saw it and I ate its food."

"I saw one too," Walt chimed in.

"See, even the kid saw one."

"Okay, you win but that bird said my name."

Sawyer threw up his hands. "Fine, fine the bird said your name."

Jack chuckled. Everyone was in high spirits this morning. Hurley's mother was arriving on an afternoon plane. Sun and Jin had left for Auckland the night before where they would meet her mother and his father, show Ki off to his grandparents. Sayid had called earlier from the hospital to say that Juliet's treatment was working and the doctors were sure her blindness was only temporary.

Jack felt wet clammy hands on his leg and looked down to see Aaron, shaking his wet hair like a dog, scattering the scent of chlorine.

"Ready?" Claire asked.

Jack pushed back his chair. "I'll see you all later."

"Where are we going?" Aaron asked.

"We're going to visit Mr. Locke, sweetie."

Unfortunately, Sayid had also reported this morning that Locke's doctors concluded his paralysis was permanent and were flabbergasted at the idea he had been upright for two and a half years. Sayid asked Jack to consult with the doctors, offer a second opinion. Jack wasn't sure what he could do, he had seen Locke's old and new X-rays and had drawn the same medical conclusion. However, all things considered, and this was Locke after all, Jack was not entirely convinced nothing could be done.

"Good luck," Kate said.

Jack smiled at her. "Thanks."

Claire picked up Aaron and she and Jack walked across the patio and into the lobby. "We're just going to change out of these wet suits. We'll meet you back here in a few minutes."

"Sure." He waited on a couch away from the windows where he could see the news vans parked outside. Claire was the survivor they were most interested in interviewing, the story of pretty blonde pregnant girl who had survived the crash and given birth on a deserted island trumped all the others, and that was even before they got word of the heroic dead rock star part. They would have to go out another door.

"Jack." Penny touched his shoulder, sat beside him.

"Hey."

"You shaved."

Jack rubbed his jaw, it felt strange to feel the bare skin. "Sawyer told me I was stealing his thunder because I looked more like the castaway."

"You've gone through this all before." She nodded to the reporters gathered outside the doors.

"That was much quieter, someone was controlling the story then."

"They're not in control anymore it seems."

"I guess not, hopefully all the attention will be enough to shield us from whoever is still out there," Jack said.

"Maybe some intrepid journalist will be able to fit together the pieces we never could."

"When are you going home?"

"We haven't decided. We might sail back to the Bahamas with Robert and travel on from there."

"You're serious?"

"We're in no rush to get back to the U.K. Christchurch feels strange enough. Des can't get over the noise, all the cars. Neither of us is ready for London yet," she explained. "And you?"

"I'm going to Sydney with Claire first, after that…I'm not sure."

"There's a lot to figure out." Penny squeezed his shoulder again. "One day at a time."

They both stood when they saw Claire and Aaron approaching.

"Jaaaack." The little boy flung himself at Jack, hugging his leg, as he had taken to doing every time they met.

"Ready?" Claire asked, taking Jack's hand.

"Ready."

x x x

Author's notes: And so it goes. Thanks for reading!


	11. Pineapple Lessons

Author's Note: Once I finished the series, I regretted not having a chapter that showed Penny's adjustment to life on the island. This should be read alongside the on-island section of part 8.

x x x

On her first night on the island, Penny had slept propped up against a tree. She had been half convinced if she fell asleep she would wake up in her hotel room in Fiji so she fought to keep her eyes open. She tried to focus on John's story but somewhere during his description of an elaborate machine he built to break the glass on the hatch roof she had drifted off, before he even got to the part about Desmond.

She dreamt about horses, hundreds of them thundering across a valley. She stood amongst them in a cloud of dust kicked up by their pounding hooves. She had no fear of being trampled, held her arms out wide. Their tails whipped the tips of her fingers. She awoke with a start at dawn, disorientated and stiff, the beat of running horses still rumbling inside her.

On her second night on the island, Penny did not fight to stay awake. She slipped into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the familiarity of the arms that held her in an unfamiliar bed in an unworldly place. When she awoke rested and knowing exactly where she was, she couldn't help but smile to herself.

Her smile faded when she saw Desmond's own expression. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling; one arm flung over head, one hand stroking his beard. He was miles away and didn't even stir when she rolled over.

She nudged his leg with her knee and ran her hand across his chest. "Des."

"Hmm." His pained look disappeared, quickly replaced with softness, but its existence lingered in her mind. "Pen."

"Morning."

"Morning."

"Where were you?"

"Here, with you." He traced his thumb across her collarbone. "Unbelievably."

"Indeed."

She slid her leg across his, wiggled closer. He moved his hand to her hip but she was surprised when instead of drawing her nearer he held her back.

"Last night," he began. Sadness flooded his face again, finishing his sentence for him.

Her first instinct was jealously. Was this when he told her there was someone else? That was the question she had come close to asking Kate so many times but could never bring herself to voice. She had promised herself, whatever the answer, she would accept it. He didn't owe her anything. She herself had been married and divorced in the interim. In fact it would be better if he hadn't been alone.

Was it the pretty young girl with the toddler, Claire? Or Juliet? Or even, god, the man who had been so dismissive of her yesterday, Sawyer?

He seemed to read her mind or her stricken face. "No, no, no," Desmond said, rolling over so they were face to face. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's just we can't, last night… we shouldn't have… How much do you know about this place?"

"But Sun…"

"We can't take that risk."

"And there's no…"

"It's the first thing they ran out of…"

"I see." She rolled onto her back, tucked the sheet around her breasts. This was the last conversation she thought they would be having. "That's very chivalrous of you." She didn't mean for it to sound as sarcastic as it did but it stung that the most risky thing she had done in the last twenty-four was to have unprotected sex. Then it hit her, how unprepared she was for being here.

What had been the first words out of his mouth yesterday? "You shouldn't be here. This place is – it's all wrong. It shouldn't be like this."

It might look pretty but the island dripped with death and darkness. After all, her first introduction had been seeing Desmond, whom she'd always thought had made a better monk than a soldier, close to beating a man to death. Since she never expected this to work, she hadn't really thought about what she would be giving up or what she would have to face by coming here with no escape route. She imagined this is what he had been dwelling on when she woke.

If anything, the sex was the easiest thing to solve. Well, we'll just have to get creative, she thought.

"It just means we have to be creative," he said.

"I always prided myself on being resourceful. And you, who I suppose, has had time to imagine this happening in a hundred different ways, might have some suggestions."

"Oh, that would be an underestimation," he agreed, tugging the sheet away from her body.

Well then, she thought, reaching for him. There would be time for her worries later. All she had now was time.

x x x

There appeared to be an unspoken agreement amongst the island inhabitants to leave Penny and Desmond alone for one day, as if this was all they needed, before the_ Elizabeth_ was besieged with visitors. It was natural that people were curious about her and the outside world but she couldn't help feel resentful of their intrusion. She didn't have answers for most of their questions, be they about their families or who had won the pennant in whatever sport they used to follow. Besides major elections and the war in Iraq, she had been too preoccupied with her search to keep up with current events. And having gone through their own wars and regime changes, no one expressed much interest in these.

All she could offer them was information about the lawsuit against Oceanic led by Sabrina Carlyle and tidbits about Kate and Jack. They seemed grateful, if not entirely optimistic, to know two of their most trusted friends had been trying to figure out how to get back ever since they left. Nobody asked about the baby so she assumed that had been private. It wasn't her place to share the sad news.

It was strange to meet the people she had read and heard so much about. In some ways they were just like she imagined, individually at least. What surprised her was the overwhelming sense of community projected by the crash survivors. Everyone had grown into a role that played a critical part in keeping things together. Sayid was calm and strong, the one they all looked to for solutions. Claire, not the most obvious of leaders, seemed to be whom everyone circled for encouragement. Then there was Rose and Jin, offering two different types of protection, one soft, the other hard, both equally necessary for survival. It was as if the sum of them was greater than their parts. They needed to be in order to compete with whatever the island threw at them and the hive mentality of the Others.

John had a foot in each group, though she felt he was not entirely claimed by either, nor fully trusted. He seemed to be the island's representative, come down from Olympus, unable to fully bond with mere mortals because of his burdens and rewards. She had only been here two days, and was already starting to think of the island as a person unto itself.

She observed Desmond had also remained on the periphery, deliberately, she believed because he had been alone for so long; it was more comfortable. Even now he stood off to the side while people gathered around her. It was safer to retreat rather than get attached. His failure with Charlie, she sensed, though he had not spoken of it to her, clung to him over a year later.

And then there was Ben.

He arrived after everyone else had left, when she thought she had Desmond to herself again. It was almost dark and they were was sitting quietly on the deck, sipping vegetable soup from mugs, watching the sun slip beneath the horizon.

He didn't call out, just cleared his throat several times until they got up and looked over the side of the _Elizabeth._ He stood on the dock, holding a lantern and a basket.

"Yes?" Desmond asked.

"I thought you would like to know that Mikhail is locked in one of the lab cells."

"Did you see to that yourself, then?"

"I did."

"Wonderful."

"Your people are guarding him." Ben sat the basket down. "Hello Penelope."

"Hello."

"In colonial America, sea captains returning from the Caribbean would place a pineapple outside their front door to announce they were accepting visitors. They were a symbol of hospitality." He held the lantern over the basket and she could see several pineapples inside.

"Oh. Thank you."

"Will you come with me tomorrow, both of you, to see Jacob?"

"No," Desmond responded without hesitation. He took her hand as if he was worried she would accept the offer and leave immediately.

"It's not me whose asking."

"Well, you can tell your Jacob, if he wants to see us, he can come here. I'll leave a pineapple out."

"That's not how it works, Desmond."

"That's exactly how it will work."

The lantern's flame reflected in Ben's glasses. Then a gust of wind came from the water and snuffed out his light. "That's your choice." He walked off without another word, leaving the basket behind.

Desmond wrapped his arms around Penny and kissed the top of her head. "Just another day in paradise."

x x x

Day four brought splinters, a surprise and Sawyer.

When Penny was young she had played pioneer girl. She would tie her hair in braids, dress up in her mother's long skirts, bind her doll Diana to her back, and traipse through the woods behind the house. She collected pinecones, reeds and leaves, crushed berries into paste, and scraped sap from trees, her stores for the long winter ahead. She huddled over a circle of stones, stoking the pretend coals that would bake her carefully prepared mud pies. One summer she built a lean-to with her cousin Henrietta and gained her mother's permission to let them sleep outside. That experiment lasted a few hours before they were tucked inside her cozy bed, drinking hot coco and watching television.

Given that this was the extent of her outdoor experience, she was inadequately prepared for life on the island. And unless the islanders wanted to put on a theatrical revue, _South Pacific_ perhaps, she had no practical skills to offer.

Still, she gamely followed Desmond into the jungle at the crack of dawn to help him collect firewood for the signal fire. He explained there were others things she could do, help on the farm, assist Sun in her soap making or work in the communal kitchen, but neither were ready to be separated. So she piled what he chopped on a tarp, kept her limbs away from the axe, and then helped him drag it all back to shore where they loaded it up onto the boat.

By noon she was sweaty and achy and ready for bed. Of course, that might just be because she had spent all morning watching a shirtless Desmond swing an axe.

Before they left for the beach camp, he insisted she let Juliet take a look at the stubborn splinter stuck deep in her hand. If the doctor was amused by Desmond's over protectiveness she didn't show it, merely ushered Penny into the examination room and sat her under a bright light. Juliet probed her palm with tweezers and quickly extracted the piece of wood.

While she disinfected the small hole, she asked, "Has Sawyer come to talk to you yet?"

"No, why?"

"He will and he probably won't be very nice about it but give him a break."

"Okay."

"He was very close with Jack and Kate," Juliet explained. "Especially Kate."

"Oh," Penny said. Suddenly the couple she had only known as Jack and Kate made more sense. There has always been something hanging between them, a distance, sometimes as big as the room, at other points as small as a snail. She thought it had just been the trauma of what they had gone through, and that was probably some of it, but maybe this was the other part.

Did that mean—Ellen? She would have to be the one to tell him about Ellen.

She didn't look forward to this and was relieved when the afternoon was spent at the old beach camp where she had the pleasure of meeting Hurley. He embraced her like they were old friends and she felt that maybe one day they would be.

"Why'd you wait so long to bring her over?" He teased. "I've been waiting here on pins and needles."

"Yeah, that must have felt like a lifetime for you, brother."

Penny left them to discuss the Mikhail situation while she wandered around the beach. She tried to imagine it full of people instead of the handful that were there now. The only sign that a plane had once fallen on this spot was a row of airline windows making up the wall of someone's shelter.

She stumbled across a graveyard. Two crosses made from sticks lay placed to one side. Penny wondered if these had been for Jack and Kate and had been hastily removed after the news of their survival travelled via walkie-talkie. In the centre was a marker for Charlie, a wooden cross to which his guitar was tied. She wished she had thought to bring flowers for him.

"Thank you," she whispered, running her fingers over the instrument's cracked wood.

Desmond joined her, seemed to say his own prayer then led her into the jungle. They walked for about half hour until they came to a hole in the ground. A hole was the wrong word, it was a crater. All that was missing was the smoking asteroid. She sat on the edge, dangling her legs into the void. Desmond scrambled down the side and poked around the jagged layers of dirt with a stick.

She had no words. What was more remarkable? That he had lived in this hole for three years or that he has survived the explosion which destroyed the hatch?

Her father was many things but she didn't think he was a sadist. Had this been his way of giving Desmond an opportunity to be something, while simultaneously getting him out of her life for good?

Thinking of her father reminded Penny of her mother. It didn't matter that they hadn't been close in years, that the last time they'd spoken, her mother had called her a damn fool (a sentiment she would undoubtedly think was an understatement if she knew where her daughter was now). It was wrong to have now put her in the position she had been in for so many years, left behind alone, a loved one lost at sea.

Her reflection was interrupted by a holler from Desmond. She leaned over the side to see him climb excitedly up the crater. When he was on the surface, he collapsed on the ground beside her and retrieved something from the waistband of his shorts. It was a book or part of a book missing its cover and chunks of its pages.

"I can't believe this," he said, showing it to her. "I've been down here before and there was nothing!"

She read the visible text on the charred page. " 'Her heart—is given him, with all its love and truth. She would joyfully die with him, or, better than that, die for him. She knows he has failings, but she thinks they have grown up through his being like one cast away, for the want of something to trust in, and care for, and think well of. . . .' This is your book."

"Pages sixty-three to one hundred and one anyway."

"Did you ever read it?"

"Almost, once."

"Only you would have the discipline not to succumb to curiosity, here of all places."

"It wasn't discipline. It was fear."

"And now?"

He tossed the wrecked book aside. "Now, I'm going to wait until I'm old and in a home. Then some beautiful young nurse will read it to me."

She cupped his cheek and kissed him softly. "Sounds like a plan."

As they sailed back to the barracks, Hurley caught a big Kokoda and he invited them for dinner. Her mouth watered as he described cooking it with coconut milk and lime. Once they docked, he dashed off to his house to prepare it, insisting they come over soon so Penny could learn how to clean fish. His enthusiasm was infectious so out went the plans for an early night and quiet evening alone. She met him at the fish hut where she held her nose and watched as Hurley casually scooped out the gory contents of the large fish's stomach, removed the fins and gills, then d it, all the while regaling her with stories of his adventures with Des. She decided then and there she liked Hurley very much but would not volunteer to be the island fishmonger.

Later than night, Desmond and Penny strolled back to the _Elizabeth_, hand in hand, with full stomachs and lazy minds. It reminded her of many such times they had walked home together after a party or show, like they had never stopped doing this. Hurley's dinner had been lovely and if there were enough moments like these, she thought maybe everything would be okay.

Of course the moment was ruined when Desmond stopped in front of the dock and whispered a warning. "There's someone on the boat."

"How do you know?"

"The ladder's all twisted. Stay here." He picked up a rock from the water's edge and crept quietly along the planks.

"Should I go get someone?" she asked but he didn't answer. With the rock in one hand, he climbed the rope ladder up and disappeared over the side of the boat. She didn't know what to do. Should she run and get Hurley? Find Sayid?

She jumped when a branch snapped behind her in the brush. She swivelled around to see a black blur, a small animal perhaps, run through the trees. Penny couldn't help but feel that something could reach out of the ground, the woods or even the water and snatch her away.

Then a lantern was lit on the boat and quiet voices carried across the water. Desmond leaned over the side and waved her over. Apparently whoever the intruder was, he was friendly.

She hurried over and climbed up. There was Sawyer lounging on a chair he had taken from inside, feet up on a duffle bag. He had a knife in one hand and half a pineapple in the other.

"I guess I wasn't the first welcome wagon." He pointed with his knife to Ben's basket of pineapples. He put down the fruit and dug around his bag, coming up with a bottle of wine. "Course I was saving this for a special occasion, but then what's more special than true love." He pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a long drink, then held the bottle out to Penny.

She sniffed it before she took a sip. It was some sort of fruit wine, sugary and highly potent, she expected. She gasped as the sweetness trickled down her throat.

"What do you want Sawyer?" Desmond asked. "It's late."

"The owl and the pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat." Desmond and Penny exchanged blank looks and Sawyer shook his head. "I thought you folks were supposed to be literary."

"I know the poem. What are you talking about?"

"Don't you think it's time we took this pleasure craft out for another test run? See if we can't get off this rock? Maybe she's your lucky charm." He jerked his thumb toward Penny.

"That's not a bad idea, Des."

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

"You want to leave now? Tonight?"

"I've got no reason to stick around. Do you?"

"We'd need supplies and I'd want to make some repairs first."

Sawyer looked disappointed. "How long will that take?"

"A week, at least, maybe more."

He thought this over. "Consider me your first mate. I'll scrounge up whatever you need."

"Alright."

Sawyer held out his hand and Desmond shook it. "Alright." He grabbed the bottle of wine from Penny, took another drink, then gave it back. "Try not to district him too much. He's got work to do." He swung his bag over one shoulder and climbed over the side of the boat.

Penny followed him to the ladder. "Sawyer," she called down and he looked up. "Can I come see you tomorrow morning?"

He studied her and she thought he was going to leave without answering. "Yeah," he said softly, then disappeared into the night.

"What was that about?"

"Just some business between old friends."

He cocked his head but didn't press her for an explanation. He took the bottle from her and drank. "This is awful.

"He must be saving the good stuff."

He held the bottle up to the light and swirled cloudy liquid. "I think he made this."

"So, do you think the _Elizabeth_ will point you home this time?"

"I had come to believe that perseverance didn't mean anything in the face of fate but maybe I missed the point."

"And that is?"

"That giving up and failing aren't the same thing."

"That sounds wise."

He took another sip of the wine and grimaced. "I'm not wise, just old."

"Not old, experienced." She took the bottle from him and set it on the floor, wrapped her arms around his neck. He slid his hands around her waist, then moved lower, pressed her tight against him.

Penny was tired, her back ached from carrying the wood and her palm still throbbed where the splinter had been. Five minutes ago she had been terrified something dreadful was going to happen, and she got the feeling that more often than nought, something dreadful usually did happen here. The little balls of anxiety she had when she first stepped out of the dinghy had since doubled in quantity and size, rolled around inside her like electric marbles. Yet she had experienced versions of these feelings back home, alone, where it had been worse not knowing.

She exhaled a sigh, heavy with longing and acceptance. Everything here was a bit of a paradox.

x x x

A/N: Thanks for indulging this insertion.


	12. Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens

**Author's Notes:** This is an epilogue to Ebb and Flow that takes place three months after rescue.

x x x

Kate never thinks she'll shake the feeling of walking into a room and knowing she doesn't belong. All it took was a flannel shirt draped across the back of a chair and an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table for her space to morph into Wayne's territory. It's what occurred each time she reached for the brass doorknob on the front door of Monica and Kevin's home sweet home. And it's how she feels now, standing in Rose and Bernard's cozy living room, surrounded by people who are in some ways her closest friends and in other ways complete strangers.

Maybe the problem is specific to houses; the intimacy of domestic spaces has never served her well. She's always felt more comfortable in the middle of nowhere, lulled by the easy anonymity found in a truck stop off a highway only identified by a number or hiking through a field where all you can see for miles is grass and sky. This is how the island started out for her, and no matter how many times various forces attempted to purge her presence, she never once felt like a trespasser.

Except you can't go home again, an expression that had certainly rung true before but now she understands it in a broader sense. Lost things can be found, she and Jack had proven that, but what's found will be irrevocably changed by the experiences in between. Returning to the island had once seemed impossible but in the end what proved unachievable was not locating its shores but recapturing what she had felt when she was first there. Gone was the one thing that had given her a sense of belonging, an automatic acceptance and a right to be there simply by surviving the crash and all that came after. Her escape had severed the bond to both location and people. She is no longer one of them.

It's partly the math, their extended stay on the island versus her own. She doesn't mind not getting their new inside jokes (one mention of paprika has Sun giggling hysterically and Sayid shuffling his feet in embarrassment) and she's relieved to have missed whatever terror causes Claire to go white at the sound of breaking glass. But she had always expected they would all move on once it was over, though to be fair she never assumed she would have a choice. To an extent, that's what they all did, except three months later, at the first sign of a crisis, they've crossed borders and time zones to be together again. Almost of them. Among those who are here, Kate's sure she's the only one calculating how long before she can leave without appearing rude.

It's different for Jack. If he feels like an outsider it's not bothering him. Like her, his motivation to return had not been purely altruistic but his needs had been simpler. Getting everyone back in relatively good shape was all he asked for, and once that was accomplished he was able to relinquish everything the island had thrust upon him. It didn't hurt that along the way he picked up a new identity. He's taking being a brother and uncle just as seriously as he did being their leader but his new responsibilities rest easier on his shoulders.

Kate watches him now from across the room where he's engaged in what appears to be the deepest of conversations with Aaron as they examine one by one Rose's collection of marble animal figurines. Jack picks up an elephant and holds it in his palm so the little boy can run a finger over its tusks and trunk. She can't hear what they're saying but their faces are both awash in awe. When they move onto the giraffe, Jack catches her eye and he beckons her to join them. The offer's tempting and that's problem; she's played family with Jack before and she's not sure she can step into that world again, even for a moment. So she taps her mug to indicate she needs a refill and takes off in search of the kitchen.

On the way she stops to listen to Hurley hold a crowd of Nadlers captive with the story of how Rose attempted to start a choir on the island. Only Charlie humoured her and their one and only performance consisted entirely of Elvis Presley songs. When asked why they only had one concert, Hurley hesitates to reveal that Charlie died a week later and makes a big joke about them breaking up over artistic differences.

Kate nearly rethinks her destination when she has to pass through the gauntlet of couples flocked around the dining room table. They're all discreetly touching, as if to reassure each other of their existence, on today of all days. Jin's crouched down trying to coax Ki into eating something while Sun's fingers lazily trail across his neck. Penny and Desmond's hands are chastely clasped but to Kate they always look like they're only three steps away from falling into bed. Sayid and Juliet stand hip to hip and eat off each other's plates, betraying their frequent denials that there's nothing going on between them. She squeezes by them with a weak smile and pretends she doesn't hear Sun call her name.

Once in the kitchen, she picks up a towel and joins Rose's sisters at the sink. They welcome an extra set of hands as much as she welcomes having something to do. They're all gossiping about Rose's first husband, Alan, how handsomely he's aged and how well he's done. If Kate remembered what he looked liked, she would have found Alan and sat with him because surely he's the one person who feels equally out of the loop.

"It was a beautiful service." Kate doesn't hear Sun approach until she's at her side holding a stack of dirty plates.

"It was."

"In Korea, funerals are a much more sombre affair. This felt like a celebration of Rose's life."

These are the types of things people say at funerals to make each other feel better but Sun is right, Rose's was different. The hymns had been lively and light rather than mournful and instead of flowers decorating the church, everyone was given a package of seeds to take home. In his eulogy, Bernard had explained that Rose didn't originally want a funeral because she felt it would be strange for her family and friends who had already buried her once. However, when he insisted he would need one, Rose had given in and planned it all herself. She had even written a poem to mark the occasion. The last stanza had stuck in Kate's head:

_Skyscrapers hide the heavens; it does not mean they are not there, _

_Mark your map accordingly and fly there if your dare._

Kate didn't know much about poetry and wasn't sure she understood it. Even though Bernard had been the one to read it, she had heard it delivered in Rose's voice and thought that was the most important thing.

"It's nice how many people were able to come on such short notice," Sun comments and suddenly her face is flooded with awareness that she's wandered right into the one topic she hoped to avoid with Kate.

No one's mentioned Sawyer's absence, at least not around her. Kate doesn't know what bothers her more, that for Bernard's sake he didn't have the courtesy to show up or everyone thinks they need to tiptoe around her. Out of all the survivors only Sawyer and Locke are missing. No one's surprised about John; he had vanished from the hospital in Auckland about a week after they arrived. Kate had half expected the church doors to blow open during the service to reveal him rising from his wheelchair to walk down the aisle. Of course, there was no such dramatic interruption. They had left that world behind.

Sawyer had disappeared around the same time. One afternoon he mentioned he had things to take care of and said he would catch up with her later. She assumed that meant he was going out to run some errands but instead he had checked out of the hotel and left Auckland without a word to anyone. He could be anywhere, which she gathered was one of a number of points he was trying to make, another obviously being, 'see how you like it'.

In the brief interim between finding him collapsed on the sand, covered in mud and ash, and watching him casually stroll out of the hotel lobby, his moods had fluctuated wildly. There had been moments of playfulness, like when he had held court on the deck of the rescue ship, taking bets, literally, on what had changed in the outside world. At other times, the light seemed too bright for him, even if they were indoors, and he would mumble something about a migraine and retreat to his room for hours. A few times she had caught him scowling at Jack with an intensity she hadn't seen since the first days after the crash, only to find him minutes later with his arm slung around Jack's shoulder, all smiles, ribbing him about his beard.

As for her, after they poured over Ellen's pictures together he had barely acknowledged her presence, yet he seemed to watch her constantly. If anyone could keep his eyes glued to someone, while simultaneously ignoring that person, Sawyer could. In response she had done nothing, thinking it was right to give him his space but now she worried that had just encouraged him to leave.

The night before he had left, it had come down to just the two of them, sitting across from each other at a table by the pool. Everyone else had gone to bed. After avoiding opportunities that would leave them alone, Sawyer seemed fairly relaxed with the situation. It had prompted her to ask, without really knowing if she was referring to that night or the near future, "Now what?"

In lieu of a smart or suggestive comment, he just reached under the table and picked up her foot, slipped off her sandal and pulled it into his lap. He brushed off some dirt and positioned her heel firmly between his thighs, then began kneading the sole, gently at first, but progressively pressing deeper. She had closed her eyes and scrunched down into her chair as his thumbs worked in tiny circles, then switched to long strokes, down from the toes to the heel, while his fingers caressed the sides and top. Although his hands never strayed higher than her ankle, she had felt them everywhere.

When he finally stopped, he had chuckled softly when she automatically switched feet. He didn't touch the second one until she opened one eye and glared at him. He flashed her a crooked smile, then repeated the routine, sending shivers up her spine.

After he had finished, she asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

"You mean why I didn't do this before? You never sat still long enough."

"I'm here now."

"I know." The way he had said it, so softly, she thought he had forgiven her for leaving him to go after Jack, for making the deal with Sam and for losing Ellen. Except he had taken off the next day with barely a backward glance.

Sun asks, "How's your father?" and Kate snaps back to the present. She's about to respond he's the same when they're interrupted by Walt coming to say goodbye. He's here with both his grandmothers who share custody and coincidently live just blocks away from each other in Brooklyn. She gives him a hug and he warns her not to squeeze so tight because Bernard's been feeding him all afternoon and he thinks he might burst.

When she hears Ki start crying, Sun excuses herself, leaving Kate to decide whether to follow or retreat. She chooses the latter and goes upstairs. In the spare room she finds Alex and her mother sorting through coats on the bed. Kate almost fails to recognize Danielle, who has managed to look both elegant and comfortable in a long black wool dress. She accepts their offer to share a cab into the city. They've already said their goodbyes, so Kate slips out with them, having only a slightest twinge of guilt about her hasty exit.

With Danielle and Alex there's never any pressure to speak and Kate relaxes in their presence. As they leave the Bronx, Manhattan's skyline dominates the view and Rose's poem comes back to her. _Skyscrapers hide the heavens; it does not mean they are not there_. Was she referring to dying here in New York or was it supposed to be a metaphor for faith?_ Mark your map accordingly and fly there if your dare. _Kate wonders if the last line was an allusion to the island or simply an instruction to live your life to the fullest.

The cab drops Kate off at her hotel in midtown. Danielle and Alex say goodbye sleepily and she finds herself yawning too, even though it's only eight o'clock. She crosses the lobby and waits for an elevator, torn between crawling into bed immediately or taking the time for a bath first. Bed, she decides as the elevator doors open with a ding and out steps a group of tourists, followed by Sawyer dressed in a rumpled suit.

He waits for the tourists to go by and then saunters over to her like this is where they planned to meet all along. Suddenly she's wide awake and angry as hell.

"You missed it."

"Hello to you too."

"What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are, paying my respects."

"Well, you're late."

"My plane was delayed."

"Your plane from where?"

He swoops in close and she can smell he's been drinking. "Miss me?"

"No." She pushes him back. "Sawyer…"

"What?"

"It's been a long day. I'm going to bed." She reaches for the elevator button again but he blocks her path.

"Come have a drink with me."

"No."

"Let's go for a walk."

"No."

He seizes her hand. "You can tell me all the gossip. Did Jack cry? Are Romeo and Juliet still denying they're star crossed lovers?"

"If you cared so much, you should have shown up."

"I'm here now."

Those words melt her anger and she allows him to pull her along and back out onto the street. Once they're outside he turns quiet and releases her hand. They walk for a few blocks not saying anything. She steers them to Central Park because it's strange enough being with him, let alone seeing him framed against neon, concrete and traffic. When they enter the park, the sounds and lights of the city dissolve and the silence between them crackles in the darkness. She wonders if he lost his nerve for whatever he planned to say and decides the best thing to get him going again is to call him out.

"Your plane wasn't delayed, was it?

Instead of riling him, her question has the opposite effect. "I got here yesterday," he admits.

"Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

"I've been to enough funerals. After the last one, I decided to quit."

"Charlie's?" she asks, thinking he couldn't be talking about the Others who died of the sickness and she doubts they did anything for Ben and then she realizes he means hers and Jack's funeral.

"Yeah, Charlie's," he says, heavy with sarcasm.

When they come to the pond Kate decides she doesn't want to walk anymore so she finds a bench. Sawyer follows but doesn't sit beside her, he just stands with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, looking at the water and watching a man struggle to walk two Great Danes.

Since he seems to be in a confessing mood, she tries again. "Where have you been?"

"I told you, I had things to take care of."

"Like?"

"Like getting a haircut." He points to his head but she hardly notices a difference so she doesn't know if he's kidding. "And it's not the easiest thing in the world to break a cranky paraplegic out of a hospital and baby-sit him for three weeks while you find someone crazy enough to sail him back to whatever's left of the island."

"You helped Locke?"

"We made a deal, a long time ago. He wouldn't stop us from leaving but if he was ever forced to go, I would help him get back."

"Do you think he made it?"

Sawyer shrugs and joins her on the bench but he only perches on the edge giving the impression he's poised to leave at any moment. "You and Jack lived together in Los Angeles, right?"

"For a while," she says, praying this is not going to be all about Jack. "I mainly stayed in San Diego."

"Did he ever tell you about his patients?"

That was not the follow-up question she expected. "No, not really. Why?"

"Just over a year ago he removed a little girl's appendix. I knew her mom, Cassidy," he pauses, searching her face for a reaction but she gives none. "Anyway, I looked up Cass when I got back to the States and found her in the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility in Oregon. She had some interesting stories to tell me."

"An old business associate?"

"Something like that."

"And the little girl?"

"Clementine. She's my daughter."

"How old is she?"

"Six, almost seven."

"Sawyer, you're a dad." It comes out matter-of-factly and free of jealousy. She knows, if he gives himself the chance, he could be a father and do it well.

He studies his hands. "Yeah."

"Jack never said anything."

"He couldn't have known. Cass's parents have custody of Clem. They're from Phoenix and were on vacation at Disneyland when she got sick. At the time, none of them knew who I was, let alone that I was on Flight 815, the same as the infamous doc who saved their granddaughter."

"Small world."

"It's gets smaller. You still don't know where I'm going with this?"

"No."

"Cass said she always thought something was suspicious about Flight 815 because when the news broke about the two sole survivors, she knew Kate Austen wasn't who the newspapers reported, some college grad off to see the world."

"How...?" she starts, then stops as a series of locations parade through her mind: a gas station, bar and hotel scattered off an interstate in Iowa, settings for confessions about broken hearts and the failures of family and lovers. "Cassidy? What's she in jail for?"

"Fraud."

"My god."

"You, me, Cassidy, Jack…And don't get me started on Locke and his daddy issues. I gotta wonder if this is the longest con ever, Kate, and if so, who's pulling the strings, cause it isn't me."

He appears so wounded by these coincidences that she unconsciously reaches out to stroke the hair that falls across his neck. He stiffens at her touch but she continues to play with it, run her fingers threw it and tug at the roots gently. Finally she feels some of his tension release and he settles back against the bench. Having closely associated touching his hair with touching him elsewhere, it's a gesture she can't maintain for long, so lets go and says, "If it's a con, at least it's over now and we won."

"We won?"

"We all won the chance to start over."

"Not Rose."

"No," she agrees. "Maybe it's not about starting over but making peace with who you are, while you have the chance."

"And how's that working out for you?"

Now it's her turn to study her hands and they seem older than the rest of her. "Some of us have more to make amends for than others."

Sawyer lifts her chin up and holds it so she can't look away. "I never blamed you for leaving. Well, I did but that was when I thought you had died for Jack. Once Penny and I talked, I realized you did what you had to. And who knows, something even worse might have happened if you had stayed."

Kate didn't think she needed to hear those words from him but they lift some of the weight off her heart she's been carrying since Ellen died. He releases her chin but they continue to stare at each other. "I wish I could know that for sure. I look at Ki and all I see is his strength."

"Yeah, but he's really spoiled and whiny. And have you seen his ears? There's a reason I call him Dumbo."

"Sawyer! Is nothing sacred to you?" She slaps him lightly on his thigh but leaves her hand there. "What's Clementine like?"

"Her ears are regular size, she's smart as a whip, and entirely suspicious of me."

"As she should be."

He laughs but grows serious again. "You know it's seven hours from Phoenix to San Diego by car but only ninety minutes by plane." The statement comes out of nowhere but she senses this is what he was here to say all along. Her instinct is to tease him about this knowledge but he's put himself on the line with this murky invitation and the slightest hint of mockery would have him retract it in a second. She also knows this is not the end of their questions for each other, especially with the new history laid at her feet, but the rest can only be answered with time.

Kate takes a deep breath and holds it longer than normal, so when she exhales, she's light headed. "I like the desert."

"Well, you should come out sometime."

"Maybe I will."

"Good." He stretches his arm out, lets it rest lightly across on her shoulders. Kate had forgotten that he was always the tentative one, quick to mark his territory in front of others, but ever so careful, at least at first, when it was just the two of them.

She feels it's her turn to issue an invitation so she shifts closer, runs one hand down his thigh, while the other grasps his jaw, directs his lips to hers. Their foreheads touch and he waits for an eternity to respond, then kisses her softly and all too quickly. She thinks she's misread his intentions until she feels his lips curl into a smile and realizes it's not hesitation, he's teasing her.

"Oh, you can do better than that," she whispers.

"Sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

x x x

A/N: I've borrowed the term 'skyscrapers hide the heavens' from Rita Joe, a Mi'kmaq writer who used the phrase to describe colonialism and white-aboriginal relations in Canada. My poem for Rose was inspired by Joe's quote "While skyscrapers hide the heavens, they can fall."


End file.
